


A Thousand Paths Among The Stars

by haplesshippo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aliens, Alternate Universe - Space, Bittersweet Ending, F/M, Harry Potter Needs a Hug, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Slow Burn, adventure! romance! drama!, harry potter almost dies way too many times, inappropriate would you rather jokes, star trek fusion thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-24 14:51:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 49,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12015060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haplesshippo/pseuds/haplesshippo
Summary: Harry Potter, newly appointed Captain of the Marauder and son of the famous Captain James Potter, was falling apart at the seams.  His crew didn’t respect him, he was lost in the empty expanse of space, nightmares plagued his sleep, and his Commander deserved the Captain position more than he did.  Good thing multiple attempts on his life and a vicious warlord after his head was all it took to turn it all around.Alternatively, that space fic in which Harry Potter almost dies too many times, Tom Riddle slowly becomes the most smitten fool on the ship, and the rest of the crew are all just a bunch of assholes with popcorn watching the show.  And exploding ships, don't forget the exploding ships.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Shameless HP and Star Trek fusion thing. I don’t know anything about space travel outside of the Star Trek movies, so unapologetic stealing of concepts makes an appearance as well. This fic also deals with some mental issues (PTSD, insecurity, depression) that is not outright named but is present. I don’t know anyone, nor have I myself had any of these, so I hope my depiction of it isn’t horribly inaccurate and I haven’t offended anyone by trying to write about such a complex topic? Feedback is welcome.
> 
> This is my first multi-chaptered completed fic (yes, ladies and gentlemen, you read that right, I actually have the whole story written, all I have to do is edit it for grammar, smooth over the writing, and post it!), and I actually struggled with a lot of it, not because of motivation but because I'm...not quite happy with it. On one hand I'm super satisfied that I've finished it, but on the other I feel like I just didn't take advantage of what I had and didn't flesh it out well enough, and my storytelling didn't even do my concept enough justice.
> 
> But, I'll let you decide on that. Also, I SHOULDN'T EVEN BE WRITING THIS RIGHT NOW. MY MCAT IS IN 3 DAYS HOLY FUCK AND I HAVE WORK IN 5 HOURS. *hyperventilates*
> 
> Anyways, please enjoy!

Harry Potter stared at the ensign in front of him.

"Excuse me?" Harry asked, voice deadpan and so flat even the clumsiest oaf wouldn't have been able to trip over it.

"Lieutenant Commanders Malfoy and Weasley have engaged in another altercation in the mess hall, sir," the ensign reported. His four eyes still sparkled with excitement from being in outer space and  _talking to the Captain, wait until I tell my friends_. Harry was sure that enthusiasm would die a painful death when they sailed for the seventh continuous week out in the asshole of space.

Harry wasn't impressed. He pinched his nose and closed his eyes before gusting out a noisy sigh. Draco and Ron were two of his most trusted officers, competent and responsible and  _intelligent_ , and yet somehow, they were still mentally stuck at ten when it came to each other.

"Alright, Ensign. I'll go deal with it. Return to your post."

"Sir!" With a sharp salute, the Ensign made his merry way back to wherever he was supposed to be. Harry slumped in his seat. Beside him, Hermione gave him a commiserating pat on the shoulder.

"Maybe they haven't started a food fight yet," she suggested.

"Or maybe they've destroyed our one good food replicator, and we'll have to suffer horrible tasteless imitations of lasagna until the next stop," Harry muttered darkly. Hermione winced and withdrew her hand. She ran her claws through her hair and shrugged.

"Do you want me to call Commander Riddle to handle the situation?" Hermione asked in a last ditch effort to put Harry in a better mood.

Blaise snickered from the navigation panel. "You act as if Riddle won't be adding fuel to the fire, Granger."

"He's a great deal more level-headed than those two idiots," Hermione sniffed.

"The last time Riddle interfered in interpersonal altercations, we had to replace our ten thousand credit medical equipment."

"That wouldn't have happened if Nurse Lovegood hadn't pushed him out of the way of one of her imaginary creatures!"

"Lovegood doesn't have a body to push anyone with!"

"Careful, Granger, your crush is showing," Zacharias drawled. Hermione's cheeks glowed blue in embarrassment and anger. "And you're blushing bright blue. Rein in your fangirling."

"Shut your mouth, Smith, I do not have a  _crush_. I just greatly respect Commander Riddle for his accomplishments, especially his work on how the tectonic plates on Diagon IV affect the geothermal environment, which in turn gives rise to the planet's particular coloring and rock formations-" Hermione began hotly before being cut off.

"Lieutenant Zabini, please focus on navigating our ship. Ensign Smith, stop riling up Lieutenant Granger. And Lieutenant Granger, get Commander Riddle up here, he'll babysit you kids.  _I_ will go talk to Draco and Ron," Harry snapped. He felt a headache growing in the back of his head. It had been only a little more than a month on this ship, and he was already going stir crazy. He needed to get off this ship and away from his crazy officers before he committed murder, and then how would he control the ship?

There wasn't one single sane person on the deck right now.  _None._ He irritably walked towards the elevator that would lead him to a lower level. The doors closed behind him, and only the soft whir of the elevator rushing downwards broke the silence. Sweet, blessed silence.

The elevator slowed to a stop, and when he stepped out, he came face to face with a handsome, pale face, slicked back black hair, and red irises framed by black sclera. Red lines spider webbed out from the man's eyes. Even for a Dershite, the being was uncommonly handsome.

"Lieutenant Granger commed me to come to the bridge," Tom said. His voice was low and even. Well, at least someone on this god forsaken ship was calm. Harry certainly didn't feel calm, not when his nerves were so frazzled and the steady pressure of his headache threatened his sanity.

"Commander Riddle," Harry greeted tiredly. "If you'd be so kind as to get the circus act upstairs sorted out, I think I'm going to pry the toddlers in the mess hall away from each other and then end my shift early, if you don't mind."

"Not at all," Tom said cheerfully. He smiled reassuringly, which wasn't actually that comforting considering the sharp white teeth.

"Great. Thanks," Harry said, but as he strode forwards to the mess hall, his headache throbbed. Vertigo hit him with all the subtlety of a transport ship, and he wobbled slightly.

A hand reached out, nails black and clawed, and latched gently onto Harry's elbow to stabilize him.

"Are you alright, Captain?" Tom asked, a rare trace of seriousness in his voice. He ducked so press his forehead onto Harry's own forehead and hummed. His skin was cool, with a strange, velvety texture. "You seem to be a little hot for Human temperatures. Are you becoming ill? You're one of our most important officers, you must stay in good health."

Harry shifted away and shook his head, which was followed by regret as the movement exacerbated the pain. "Hopefully not. Then you'd be the only one I'd trust this ship to, and then where would we be?"

Tom quirked a grin, a touch of viciousness beneath it. "Probably with a more competent crew and making progress on our five year expedition, Captain."

Harry flinched harshly. Tom always appeared to be joking whenever he made such comments, but Harry was pretty sure that behind that stoic, composed demeanor, Tom was bitter. The  _Marauder_ had almost been  _his_ ship, after all, until Harry had somehow found himself aboard, accidentally saved her from certain doom, and banished one of the most deadly Dershian warlords in space, Voldemort, to who knew where. The Dershite had just vanished like particles in the wind. Harry was appointed Captain for his feat of heroism, a position he didn't feel like he even  _deserved_ , with Tom as his Commander.

Harry wasn't stupid. He knew what others said about him, both behind his back and in his face. Harry had been accused of being favored for his deceased father's skills and was  _gifted_ the ship. Harry himself wasn't quite sure how he went from being a student at Hogwarts Space Academy to being the Captain of his own ship, and he was pretty sure luck and sheer bullheadedness played a large part in the entire incident. Everyone else had just complained of nepotism under their breaths except for Hermione and Ron, stalwart friends to the end. That didn't mean they didn't  _think_ it, though. There were even rumors that the Space Federation was just trying to prevent a Dershite from becoming Captain of his own ship. Voldemort was a Dershite, after all, and if Tom Riddle was one as well, what would stop him from going the same way as the banished warlord?

Needless to say, the relationship between them wasn't the warmest.

"I'm sorry I don't measure to your standards, then, Tom," Harry said, icily, before twisting out of his Commander's grip.

"Captain, that is not-"

"I suggest you get to your post, Commander. I don't think the crew will last five minutes without supervision," Harry cut him off and made his way briskly to the mess hall without a glance backwards. The moment he turned the corner, his shoulders dropped, and he leaned resignedly against the wall.

He was starting to regret taking up Admiral Dumbledore's offer for the five year expedition to continue his father's work. It had barely been more than a month, and already Harry felt doubts attacking him on all sides. His officers didn't respect him. His own second in command didn't think Harry could successfully command the ship. The emptiness and loneliness of space was already starting to gnaw at his insides. Whereas before, the mere sight of space sent Harry into fantasies of freedom and adventure, now only the deep chill of black nothingness seeped into his bones, feeding on his insecurities like some voracious beast. And that wasn't even including the nightmares that plagued his sleep.

He breathed out his anxiety, shook out the tension from his shoulders, and made his way to the mess hall. He was greeted with food caking the walls, a fork that mysteriously found its way stuck in the ceiling, and two red-faced, angry Lieutenant Commanders.

* * *

Hermione peered at Harry, golden brown eyes worried.

"You look horrible, Harry. Have you gone to the medical bay yet to see what's going on with your headache?" she asked, concerned. "Malfoy may be a jerk, but he's good at what he does."

"It'll go away in a couple of days, Hermione, don't worry about it," Harry said, shoving around the replicated peas on his plate. He stabbed his sad excuse of meatloaf and shoved it in his mouth. "It happens from time to time."

"Harry, please finish eating before you speak," Hermione replied, rolling her eyes before elbowing Ron roughly in the side. Ron was content shoveling the replicated chicken pot pie in his mouth and downing it with pumpkin juice. Hermione leaned away slightly in disgust before turning her attention on Harry again. "I know it does, Harry, but I still think you should go check it out."

"Hermione, if I went to the medical bay every time my head hurt, I wouldn't ever leave," Harry replied exasperatedly. "I'll go if I need to."

"I wouldn't be worried if you didn't have a habit of leaving your injuries unattended until they became life threatening!" Hermione exclaimed. "It doesn't help that you've had a persistent headache since… _you know what._ "

Harry grumbled into his food spitefully.

"You should listen to Hermione. She's smart," Ron garbled through his mouthful of food, and Hermione didn't seem to know whether to cringe away in disgust or look pleased at the compliment.

"Alright, I'll go!" Harry finally conceded under the combined attentions of his best friends. "Can we talk about literally anything else?"

"We can talk about how I finally landed a date with Cho." Another metal tray plunked beside Harry's, followed by large alien with bronze, rough skin and a wide, scaled face. There was a swipe of grease across his cheek, and a bit of black in his mohawk that tied back into a low brown ponytail. Despite his size and rough appearance, though, the large man was still charmingly adorable.

"Congratulations, Cedric!" Hermione exclaimed, her eyes lighting up.

"I'm glad for you," Harry agreed. "Good to know there's still a bit of life in other parts of this ship."

"I'm sure there'd be a bit of life on  _this_ part of the ship if you'd stop being such a downer," Ron mumbled. "You're putting me off my appetite, Harry."

"So sorry, Ron, but I don't think there's really  _anything_ that can put you off your appetite, mate," Harry grinned, nudging his friend in the side. "Except maybe spiders."

"I'd like to see  _you_ trying to eat with a spider sitting right in front of you. Especially one of those large ones from the Forbidden Sector. They're giant!"

_"Look at him, being friendly with the upper officers."_

_"I bet the only reason he became Captain was because of his_ connections _."_

_"Commander Riddle would have made a better Captain."_

The whispers usually weren't obvious, but today, someone wanted to make their opinions  _known_ and weren't afraid to share. Generally, his crew didn't normally speak ill of their Captain in his presence. Harry was, of course, aware of his reputation and how his entire crew saw him, but knowledge did not equal comfort or acceptance, and the fact that he was being discussed so openly…

Harry felt what was left of his appetite abruptly vanish. He stood abruptly. Ron was bewildered, but Hermione and Cedric both had that same look of pity. Actually, Hermione looked ready to launch into one of her famous tirades against the gossiping group seated two tables away.

"Leave it, Hermione. I think I'll head to the medical bay now. Thanks for chatting with me," Harry said, fighting against the onset of the headache again.

"Harry…" Cedric began before turning silent, unsure of what to say. Harry was pretty sure Cedric had similar, if not the same, opinions the rest of the ship seemed to have but was just too nice to voice them aloud.

Harry turned on his heel and dumped the remains of his food in the incinerator. He made a swift exit out of the mess hall.

* * *

"Well aren't you looking absolutely dazzling today," Draco drawled in a monotone when Harry stepped into the chilled medical bay. Everything was sterilized and clean, with smooth surfaces and rounded corners. There was a crisp quality to the air. Harry shivered at how…surgical everything looked.

"Are you coming in for your headache, Harry?" Luna asked as she wandered over in a flickering of white lights. Her form was largely translucent and intangible, so she often didn't see the need to wear clothes since nobody could really see details about her anyways. Luna was the strange one of her race. The rest of her species tended to be incredibly xenophobic and kept to themselves, priding themselves on their ability to See things many other species didn't. Luna couldn't be more friendly or curious about the world outside her home, which led her to break away from her home and venture into the welcoming arms of the Space Federation. Those from Luna's planet willing to put up with communicating with other species were rare, but the fact that Luna went out of her way to meet other aliens was absolutely baffling.

"Head Nurse Lovegood, please prepare the necessary equipment for a blood draw," Draco commanded as he pulled his long hair into a ponytail. "You're coming in for a headache? How long have you had it?"

"For several weeks now," Harry winced as Draco shone a light into his eyes.

"For seven weeks, in fact," Luna interjected dreamily before she seemed to sharpen. Harry got the distinct feeling he was being watched like a butterfly under a microscope. "Since Voldemort."

Draco stilled. He pushed his hand under Harry's messy bangs and pulled them up, revealing a healing, red scar in the shape of a lightning bolt.

"It hasn't gotten any better since then," Draco observed in a low voice. He glanced down, and Harry averted his gaze. "You haven't come to us for assistance before today. Why?"

"I didn't think it was a big problem," Harry muttered. "Hermione was nagging me."

"So our Captain doesn't know how to take care of himself unless someone does so for him," Draco said, razor sharp with a hint of disgust behind his tone. "And you call  _me_ a child."

Harry flinched and convinced himself it was because Luna had stuck a needle into his vein. Harry watched his blood drain into the little vial, which the nurse then took to a small machine that coughed up a sheet with numbers. Draco tore it off and scanned it briefly.

"All your numbers are normal, but your forehead and pain say otherwise," Draco observed before turning cool, grey eyes on Harry. Draco  _had_ been Harry's rival during the academy, but the blond Veela had graduated early with top marks in the medical department and subsequently joined the  _Marauder_ legitimately. Harry could only guess what Draco thought of him now, far younger than the doctor and so much less qualified than Tom. Draco narrowed his grey eyes like he was trying to figure out Harry like a puzzle.

"Doctor Malfoy," Luna chided gently, and Draco wiped his face blank again.

"I think your biggest problem is the lack of rest you've been getting. You're overworked, even I can tell all the way from the medical bay. Blaise speaks of how you're always on the command deck," Draco said, shredding the paper and throwing it in the incinerator. Draco was smart, with a wicked sharp memory, and he kept all crew members' medical information stored either in his memory or his private Pensieve. "You need to take better care of yourself. Despite whatever you may believe, you cannot work two straight shifts in a row."

"I can take care of myself fine," Harry snapped. His patience was nearing the end, and he was  _tired_ of everyone doubting him. He didn't want to see pity in others, incompetence in himself. He was doing fine. He could do this, no matter what Hermione or Draco or Tom thought.

Draco regarded him coolly. He let out a small sigh, which was practically a facepalm in Veela language, and dug around a nearby cabinet and pulled out a small, orange bottle with little white pills in it.

"When's our next stop?" the doctor asked, counting the number of pills in the bottle.

"Port Nurmengard's several days away. We need to go there to repair some things and stock up before we leave for the long haul," Harry replied.

"Take these, one each time before you sleep until then. It should knock you out for a minimum of six hours." Draco handed over the bottle, and Harry pocketed it without even examining it. Rival or not, Harry trusted Draco not to poison him. If only Draco could trust him too. "I'll be able to restock then, those are all I had prepared for before we left. And please take care of yourself. You've got a whole crew depending on you."

"I  _know_ ," Harry snarled as he vaulted to his feet in a fit of temper. He immediately felt guilty. Good Captains didn't snap at his crew's  _legitimate_ concerns. He waved a hand with a muttered "thanks" before stalking out of the medical bay under Draco's intense stare, fully planning to go take a very long nap, but was stopped at the door by the shimmering, incorporeal form of the Head Nurse.

"What the doctor means to say is," Luna began, and it was only Harry's respect and fondness for her that stopped him from walking through her, "we care for you, Harry, and it would sadden us if you fell ill. The heliopaths would swamp you then, and then where would we be?" Luna seemed to smile.

Harry didn't say aloud that that was probably what  _Luna_ had meant to say, not Draco, but he definitely thought it.

"Thanks, Luna," Harry said before nudging around her and out the door.

* * *

Nurmengard smelled like oil, machinery, and smoke. Harry was used to the fresh air of Terra or the industrialized but clean air of Hogwarts Space Academy, not the pollution that choked Nurmengard. Compounded with his headache that seemed to be growing worse despite the sleep he'd been getting from Draco's prescription (and ignoring the flashes of green, red on black eyes, the screams of thousands in his nightmares), Harry certainly didn't want to go out, but his curiosity got the better of him. He'd never been to a space trading center before.

"We leave in two cycles," Harry announced over his comm to the rest of the ship. "Be on the ship by then, or we're leaving you behind. Make sure your responsibilities are taken care of before you skip off to town. Captain out."

"Nurmengard's a port that trades in all kinds of things, right?" Hermione asked as she sidled up to Harry, who was readying to leave the ship himself. He'd managed to beg off some painkillers from Luna, which he downed two of dry, and double checked his phaser. In an environment like Nurmengard, it was always better to be prepared for trouble.

"From what I've heard, yeah."

"I wonder if there are any good texts," Hermione muttered. Blaise turned his head in interest from where he was plotting possible paths through uncharted space.

"Is the bookworm going to find more reading material?" Blaise asked, voice sneering but demeanor eager. Harry wondered what was up with the helmsman. His behavior always seemed to contradict his thoughts, especially around Hermione.

"The  _bookworm_ is finding something to entertain herself with for the next five years instead of sitting around like a useless lump," Hermione retorted shortly. "Unlike you."

Blaise made a wounded noise before joining the two. "I've never been to Nurmengard. I want to explore a bit."

"You can't explore by yourself?" Hermione asked irritably.

"Nah. Smith is probably going to find himself a good lay, and Malfoy's busy stocking up on items. Diggory will probably try to rope me into doing something down in engineering, and lord knows Riddle's just going to be more absorbed in his experiments than interested in going out. So I'm coming with you."

"You're like a bloodsucking tick," Hermione wrinkled her nose, and Blaise laughed.

"Thank you, sweetheart."

"Please don't flirt in front of me," Harry moaned, dragging a hand down his face. "I'm feeling nauseous enough, don't make it worse."

Hermione drew back, thoroughly disgusted at the very notion, but Blaise just looked unruffled, even a little pleased. Harry decided that he wasn't going to even poke that with a ten foot pole.

They exited the ship, boots crunching along the gravel. Harry relished the feeling of being on stable land again instead of a ship flying through space. It felt so…nice, not being confined to the ship anymore, pressed on all sides by judging stares and whispered words. Maybe he'd get some much needed, restful sleep here, without any dreams of green energy crackling, powering up, ready to wipe a planet out of existence.

Nurmengard was alive in a way that space wasn't. Sure, it was polluted and populated with dubious characters, all selling or trading equally dubiously procured goods, but it was busy, and here, nobody would really know who Harry was. Here, he was just another visitor looking to trade some goods.

"Hey, it's Riddle!" Blaise exclaimed, trying to peer over the heads of annoyed workers. "Commander!"

Tom turned, bewildered at the sight of the trio. Harry didn't blame him. Harry and Hermione hanging out together was common, but Blaise didn't often interact with them outside of the command bridge. His expression quickly smoothed into the charming and confident visage he was known for onboard. Harry hated the mask. He couldn't ever tell what Tom was thinking.

"Captain, Lieutenants," Tom greeted.

"What are you doing outside of your lab?" Blaise asked enthusiastically.

"Trying to escape you lot," Tom said dryly. "I heard rumor that there were several traders with rare plants. I wanted to find a sample."

Harry narrowed his eyes at the Commander. Nurmengard traded in many things, sure, but it was mainly in machinery and technology, not botany. Besides, Neville would have jumped at the chance to find new plants instead of Tom. The Dershite dealt more in the environmental and biological side of science, last Harry recalled.

"You can join us! We're exploring too," Hermione said sweetly, and Blaise recoiled with another wounded expression on his face.

"I thought you and I were on a date!" Blaise exclaimed melodramatically. Tom quirked a smile and smoothly took Hermione's hand.

"You can do much better than this cretin," Tom said smoothly, and Hermione blushed bright blue while furrowing her brows.

"Stop teasing me," she growled and squeezed Tom's hand a bit tighter with her not inconsiderable strength, making Tom hide a wince.

"Let's just go," Harry groaned, grabbing Hermione by the upper arm and trying to drag her along with him. Blaise managed to latch himself onto Tom, and they were off exploring the stalls that lined the main street.

Harry couldn't stop turning his head trying to look at everything. Everything here was so much more advanced mechanically. Little handy devices for the most common things, such as opening beer bottles (not that there were many of those on the ship) and voice commanded music players. Harry lost sight of his companions several times. Hermione seemed to have drifted towards a stall holding books, Blaise right behind her, although his eyes wandered more towards the advanced compasses, and Tom faded in and out of the crowd more than once. Harry wasn't quite sure if he'd even find his plant.

He'd been browsing the street for at least several hours, trying to ignore the pounding in his forehead that was getting worse despite the painkillers, slowly accumulating small trinkets and things that reminded him of home (there was a small toy snowy owl that hooted and played music, and had instantly charmed Harry), when an alarm suddenly went off. It blared through the streets, and Harry immediately snapped into motion. He felt a calmness fall over him, the same battle-readiness and level head that let him survive,  _save_  a planet from Voldemort's claws. He took charge as he scanned his surroundings.

He quickly found the source of the alarm.

"The  _Death Eater,_ " Harry hissed. A large, black ship loomed at the edge of the atmosphere, a black, hulking monster of a ship against the green sky. He felt more than saw the unique Dershian beaming technology, the tell-tale radioactive green energy that Dershites were known for. Harry caught glances of red irises on black sclera as multiple soldiers landed amidst the crowd, red veins protruding from their eyes as they used their enhanced eyesight to scan the fleeing crowds. One caught sight of him, and a wide smile cracked the Dershite's mouth, teeth filed to a point.

"Found you, little Potter," the man trilled. All of the other beamed down Dershites suddenly turned their attention on him. Harry's headache split his head like a lightning bolt, making his vision waver slightly.

 _Shit_.

"Harry, this way!" Hermione appeared. Her clawed hand latched onto his wrist, and she pulled him away, using her enhanced strength to push people out of the way. He felt crackles of green energy rush towards him, but they missed. Several shots went wide, hitting civilians instead and leaving behind singed and mutilated corpses charred beyond recognition. Harry  _hated_ Dershian phasers. They were permanently set to kill.

There was a rumble, and a wall beside him began to crumble. Debris flew towards several Dershites, sending them crashing into the streets. Hermione and Harry managed to round the corner and hide.

"Are you trying to kill us, Zabini?" Hermione screeched. Blaise was floating in midair as yellow energy enveloped his body. He waved a hand, sending more rubble and machinery crashing onto their chasers.

"I'm doing you a favor. Get to the ship! Smith and Diggory have been informed about the situation, they'll set off as soon as we get on."

"There might still be people that haven't made their way on board yet!" Harry exclaimed as he tugged his arm back. Hermione whirled around in dismay. "We lost Tom in the chaos, and we don't even know how many of the crew made it back!"

"We can't afford to wait around. In case you missed it, that's the  _Death Eater_ , Potter," Blaise snarled, charm gone in the face of danger. He thrust his arm forward, telekinetically hurling whatever his powers could get a hold of at their pursuers. "I'm a good psionic, Potter, but I can't hold them off forever."

"It's a wonder how they even found us," a cool voice interjected. Tom vaulted over a flipped stall, a small phaser in one hand and a larger, more powerful energy rifle in his other. He blindly fired from over their cover. "We've barely been on this planet for half a cycle, but they knew. I thought you'd destroyed their fleet, Potter!"

"I destroyed Voldemort's  _fleet_ , not him or his ship!" Harry exclaimed, gratefully accepting Tom's proffered second gun. His head pounded, and he grit his teeth. Anything to distract him from the pain, to get his head in the game, to get his crew to safety.

"How did he find us?  _Why_ is he coming after us?" Hermione growled. Tom grunted as he hefted his heavy phaser onto his shoulder and returned fire.

"There must have been somebody who leaked our location," Blaise said from his other side, using his psionic powers to collapse rubble onto the oncoming soldiers. There was a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead from exertion.

"He wants your head," Tom said, quietly. He narrowed his eyes at Harry. "Voldemort wants your head for destroying his entire fleet and defeating him."

Harry closed his eyes and breathed raggedly through his nose. It seemed that he had brought upon him and his crew the wrath of Lord Voldemort. None of this would have happened if Harry had just stayed like an obedient cadet at the Space Academy. But no, he had to go play the hero, and even though he severely crippled the Dershian army, he had their warlord gunning for his blood. He  _could_  try to escape to the ship, but he didn't know how many of his crew were still planetside. He had to stall, give more time to any stragglers. He had to get Hermione, Blaise, and Tom safely to the ship. He was the Captain, after all, and even though he was a shit one, he'd do everything he could to protect them.

With a sharp pain lacing through his scar, nausea building in his stomach, and desperation trapped behind his teeth, he met Tom's eyes.

"If he wants me, then he'll get me," Harry said. "While I'm distracting him, get Cedric to beam you up, and then get out of here."

"We're not leaving you here!" Hermione said fiercely, and Harry tilted his head, smile grim as he readied his phaser. He needed to break cover, distract the Dershites, and perhaps lead them on a merry wild goose chase across Nurmengard. With any luck, Voldemort would let the rest of his crew go in exchange for his life.

"It's either just me or all of us. Commander Riddle will be in charge. Go!"

When there was no motion for them to leave, Harry turned to face the group. Hermione had blue tears leaking down her face, and even Blaise looked defiant and angry. Tom was staring at Harry, face blank. Harry didn't know what he was thinking, not that he ever did.

A bright flash of green blew part of the concrete by Harry's foot into dust, drawing them into action again.

"Just go!" Harry said, turning again. He quirked a grin, with no humor. "Get out of here. That's an order."

The Commander roved his eyes over Harry's face, in search of something, before he emotionlessly nodded in the face of Harry's determination. He hauled Hermione over one arm and pulled Blaise away by his shirt.

"The Captain's orders," Tom said, and he threw a last, unreadable glance over his shoulder before herding the other two away. Not even Hermione's strength could help her escape Tom's clutches. "We will go."

"I'm not leaving him!" Hermione screamed, sobbing and clawing at Tom's shirt. Blaise only closed his eyes and used his powers to build a stronger shelter for Harry.

"It should help you last longer. We'll come back for you, Captain," Blaise promised fiercely before boosting their flight towards the ship. Harry methodically checked over his phaser. The power was still good for at least twenty shots.

Harry felt a battle calm settle over him. It was ironic that, in the midst of chaos and pain, Harry felt the most clear in ages. Nobody to judge, nobody to blame him. Just him and his enemy, a clear cut path, black and white. Not even his headache registered, not really, because when it came to protecting his crew, his people, he'd ignore his own pain, always.

Harry lifted his phaser and, with pinpoint precision and determination burning down his throat, shot a Dershite right in the chest.

The time passed in a blaze of green and smoke, between trading fire with the enemy, diving behind partially collapsed buildings, and darting between covers. Harry had long run out of energy on his small phaser and, with disgust in his mouth that tasted like rot and ashes, salvaged one of the Dershian phasers. Even as one person, Harry had a psionic enforced wall to return to if he needed a break and the training from one of the Space Federation's finest, James Potter. He could handle several Dershian grunts.

He ignored the buzzing weapon in his hands that resonated strangely with his flesh, his head, his very being, ignored the same weapon that killed his father and nearly snuffed out millions of lives, ignored the pain that grew to excruciating levels that wrapped around his head like barbed wire, ignored the fact that he probably wouldn't be getting out of this alive, and fought.

In the corner of his eye, he saw the  _Marauder_ start to lift. They must have gotten everybody on board. Harry smiled grimly.

This was it, then. Harry didn't often wonder how he would die, but he'd never wanted a peaceful death, one that would come for him in the middle of the night. In his darkest hours, he'd imagined himself dying in the medical bay, no friends beside him, only the yawning void of space to keep him company, and fear always clawed at his chest. At least here, now, he'd go down protecting those he loved.

He closed his eyes and gripped the Dershian phaser that seemed so heavy, laden with so many deaths by Harry's hand.

Suddenly, there was a familiar tingling along his spine, and Harry breathed out in disbelief. Anger, denial, and then relief flooded through him as he felt himself dissolve into a million little particles. When he reassembled, he was standing on the transporter pad, Cedric's relieved face peering over the control panel.

"Good to have you back with us, Captain!" Cedric grinned.

"You were supposed to leave me. The ship's going to follow us now, with me on it," Harry snapped, trying to hide the relief. He'd just doomed the entire ship. The  _Marauder_ , although fitted for warfare, couldn't stand up to the repulsor and shielding technology of the  _Death Eater._ They were outmatched.

"Not to worry, Captain. Lieutenant Zabini scrambled their navigations and control. They won't be airborne for at least the next hour. Plenty of time for us to escape and mask our ship," Cedric said cheerfully.

"Everybody's accounted for then?" Harry pressed, to which Cedric nodded, before the implications of Blaise's actions dawned on him. "That's a huge amount of power from Blaise. He was already at his limit down there!"

"Well, he's in the medical bay from exhaustion-" Cedric began, but Harry was already racing out of the transporter room, running down the hallways and dodging his crew to get to the medical bay.

"Blaise!" he burst in and was met by Luna's giggling and Draco's glare.

"This is the  _medical bay_ , Potter, not your playground." Draco returned to fussing over Blaise, who was trapped in bed but still waving to Harry. Hermione, on the other side of the bed, sniffed before launching herself at Harry.

"Thank god, oh Harry," Hermione said, and Harry was pretty sure when she pulled away, his shirt would be stained blue from tears. He couldn't find it in himself to begrudge her of it.

"I'm good. I'm more worried about Blaise," Harry said. "You alright?"

Blaise shrugged, and Harry could see the fatigue lining his face, but the psionic looked happy enough anyways.

"I had to drink one of Draco's energy shake potion things, and I borrowed the power of several other psionics on board, but I've temporarily crippled one of the most fearsome warships this side of the galaxy  _and_ saved our ship, crew, and Captain. I'd say I'm feeling pretty alright," Blaise bragged, and Harry was glad, for once, for the smug bastard. Hermione, on his other side, gave Blaise a watery smile, and Harry resigned himself to the inevitable disaster the two would make as a couple. "They had focused all of their attention on you and not their ship, though, so I probably won't be able to do it again. They'll have countermeasures in place to cover for their weakness."

"That's good enough. I can't thank you enough for your service," Harry said sincerely. He rubbed his neck sheepishly. "You risked your health for – for  _me_. I don't know how I can repay you."

"You've already repaid me by saving Draco," Blaise replied, and Draco tensed at the mention of his name. Harry made an inquiring noise, and Draco relented.

"I'm grateful for the sacrifice you've made as well, Potter," Draco said stiffly. "I was restocking my supplies at the market when I heard the alarm. I made it onto the ship right after Commander Riddle and Lieutenants Zabini and Granger arrived. Your diversion stalled for enough time that everybody could be accounted for, and Zabini had time to scramble their navigations."

"You've exhausted yourself for me-" Harry began but was cut off.

"I think you underestimate your worth, Potter," Zabini grinned good-naturedly while Draco fluffed his pillows and fussed as much as a Veela could. "You put your ass on the line for the crew. I think you deserve the same from us, at least, don't you?"

Harry blinked, bewildered, before breathing out a shaky breath and burying his face in his hands. Draco and Blaise pretended that they didn't see their Captain breaking down in front of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and please tell me what you think! Feel free to yell at me in the reviews if you don't think I handled something right. I can't make any large changes to the story now since it's already written, but I still want to know for future reference. I tried to keep unfamiliar terminology as sparse as possible (didn't want to go around giving random names to alien species), so let me know if something gets confusing. I named Tom's species because they're central to the plot, and Draco's cuz, c'mon, when I think Draco and magical species Veela is like, the go to one. Also, fun fact, I may or may not have stolen the name Dershite from Homestuck's Derse, but they don't hold much in common.
> 
> Also, the Hermione/Blaise snuck up on me. It wasn't my intention, but then it happened, and I kind of ran with it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the reviews! Y'all are the best. I think I covered most warnings and my sad lack of knowledge in the first chapter's A/N, so without further ado, please enjoy!

“I don’t get it,” Ron said as he scanned the transmission logs to and from their ship over the past two weeks.  “What gave us away?  How did our location find itself specifically to Voldemort?”

“It could have been accidental,” Tom postulated.  Harry ran his hand through his greasy and dust-streaked hair.  He hadn’t had time to take a shower yet, since all hands were on deck pushing their ship to her limits to escape the _Death Eater_ and return to the cover of space.

“Or it could have been sabotage,” Ron growled pointedly.  Draco shifted uncomfortably at the tense atmosphere, and Cedric looked like he regretted attending the meeting.  Harry could sympathize.  Ron, when taking his duties as the tactics officer seriously, was like a hound after blood: unrelenting, unsympathetic, and ruthless.

“What are you implying?” Tom asked dangerously.

“I’m just saying that as the only Dershite on this ship as well as the slated Captain of the _Marauder_ before Harry appeared, you have more motive than anyone else,” Ron snarled.

“I beg your _pardon_.  I wouldn’t put this ship at danger.”

“Maybe not the ship, but Harry you’d gladly sacrifice for your own gain.”

Tom drew to his full height.  He towered over Ron, but Ron just glared up, full of righteous fury.

“Ron,” Harry warned, “you’re making baseless accusations.  There is no evidence.”

“He has plenty reason to turn you over to the rest of his species,” Ron snapped, narrowing his eyes.  “He made a conscious decision to _leave you_.  He left you to _die_.”

“I ordered him to!”

“Even I will not stand for what you’re accusing our _Commander_ of, Weasley,” Draco snarled, and he began to stand.  Tom looked like he had frozen in fury, and Cedric was making token but overall useless attempts to calm everyone down.

“It was probably Riddle,” Ron hissed, and Harry smacked the table.  The sharp sound quieted everyone in the room, Tom indignant and Ron furious.  Draco, as always when faced with Ron, was starting to get worked up.  Cedric was just relieved.

“I will not hear you slander your Commander, _Lieutenant Commander_ _Weasley_ ,” Harry said, dangerously soft.  His anger felt cold.  Harry loved his friend, but sometimes Ron could be a bigoted child.  “Riddle is a respected part of our crew, and we will not throw around baseless accusations because he belongs to the same species as Voldemort.  I tolerate many things aboard my ship, but xenophobia and discrimination are not one of them.”

Ron backed down, chastised, although he still shot intermittent daggers at Tom with his eyes.  Harry chalked it up as a victory.

“We will just have to be extra careful of our communication with others,” Harry said, turning his attention on Tom.  Tom nodded.  Harry had no idea what the blank-faced man was thinking.  Between the charming façade the Commander put up around crew and the emotionless veneer he had in times of stress, Harry was always left in limbo about his Commander’s thoughts and intentions.  “No unauthorized calls, no risky midnight messages to others outside this ship.  This has happened once, and we cannot let it happen again.  The crew’s lives are on the line.”

“ _Your_ life is on the line as well, Harry,” Cedric muttered.  “Or have you forgotten that?”

Harry ignored the engineer.

“I want a full report on everything you find, Ron, and Tom, I need you to be on the lookout for suspicious activity.  The crew trusts you more than they do me.”  Harry didn’t let that statement of truth sting him.  He couldn’t.  Tom looked like he wanted to protest, but Harry wasn’t sure about what.  “Cedric, I need you to look over our technology and equipment.  Make sure there aren’t any cracks even an ant could crawl through.  We can’t have this happen again.  Draco, you have your hands full with the injured.  Just keep up the good work.”

The four nodded in acquiescence when Harry looked over them.

“Dismissed.”

As he was left behind in the empty conference room, he couldn’t help but wonder what the hell he was doing.

* * *

The _Marauder_ was much more careful in its travels since then.  There were no unnecessary planetside visits or calls.  Some of the crew was bitter about the new restrictions, but most were understanding.  None except the main members of the alpha shift knew the reason for the _Death Eater_ ’s attack on Nurmengard, but that didn’t stop the speculation from running wild.  After all, what reasons would Lord Voldemort have to attack Nurmengard at the specific time the _Marauder_ had landed other than for revenge against Harry?

There was a shift in atmosphere.  Harry couldn’t find it in himself to relax around his crew, mostly because he knew what was running through their minds.

_They’d be safer if Tom was Captain.  They wouldn’t have had to deal with this if Harry wasn’t on the ship.  He should just turn himself in, stop putting his life above his crew’s.  He hasn’t even lasted a month without disaster befalling them, how is he going to manage five years?_

Everyone he met in the hallways would avoid his eyes, gaze downcast, and hurry past him.  There was a weird sort of tension between his upper officers, especially between Ron and Tom.  The only bright spot in his crew seemed to be Blaise and Hermione, who switched between scathing insults and teasing flirtations.

The nightmares persisted.  The only silver lining to the whole disaster, if it could be viewed as such at all, was that Harry and Draco managed to connect what caused the headaches.  Harry had brought the Dershian phaser with him after the attack, and it had disappeared right afterwards into the hands of a science ensign.  Apparently, Draco had snapped it up sometime.

“Dershian energy,” Harry said flatly.  Nearby, Luna hummed sympathetically as she somehow managed to clean the medical bay despite being incorporeal and intangible.  Luna was just a very special alien.

“Often referred to as Avadra.  You were injured when you saved the Space Federation, yes?” Draco asked.  He tapped Harry on his scar.  “Right here.”

“I didn’t _save_ the Space Federation,” Harry muttered.  “So many people died before I could do anything.”

“And many more would have perished if you had not been there.  For all that you are young and inexperienced, you _do_ have a sufficient repertoire of skills, and you routed a warlord’s fleet.  Do not downplay your accomplishments.”  Draco impatiently met Harry’s gaze.  “But we are not speaking about your baffling case of self-doubt.  How did you receive this scar?”

“A blast of the energy.  This, this Avadra?  Before I managed to escape, Voldemort caught me.”

Harry could remember it clearly.  Harry had just somehow managed to sneak aboard the _Death Eater_ and set off a chain reaction that had exploded Voldemort’s entire fleet and severely damaged the _Death Eater_.  The damage had incapacitated Voldemort’s flagship, lowering its shields and weakening its repulsor beams, and Harry had been about to beam off the _Death Eater_ when Voldemort found him, spitting and seething.  He could remember the giant scepter with the pointed tip, glowing poisonous green, slicing through his skin right before Cedric had beamed him off the ship.  He had been millimeters from death.

“Avadra energy, from what Tom has told me, was an energy unique to Dershia before it was destroyed.  It is a single entity that connected all living organisms on the planet, no matter how much it was split or separated.  According to legends, Avadra was the life force of the Dershian planet before the planet was destroyed by a series of unfortunate natural disasters.  Whoever remained of the Dershites harnessed the energy of their planet for their own survival and split it into multiple ships as a power supply.”  Draco peered at his holopad through his glasses and scrolling through his notes.  “That’s why their fleet moved with such organization when they attacked.  They were quite literally synchronized with each other because each of them holds a bit their planet’s lifeforce.”

Bile rose in Harry’s throat.  “Voldemort wounded me with Avadra,” he realized, mind filling in what Draco hadn’t told him.  “It gave me this scar, which means… _I’m_ connected.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not.  Proximity to Avadra may be what triggers your headaches, or it might be merely stressful situations,” Draco observed.  “You’ve been having the headaches since you began working aboard the _Marauder_ , which is evidence for them being stress-induced.”

Harry’s mind flew to how his headache had turned almost debilitating on Nurmengard, how there was a consistent pounding that only subsided the further he got from the control room, from stress and expectations, from _Tom_.  If Tom had been closely connected to Avadra before, then…

“How do I fix this?” Harry demanded.  He couldn’t afford to be weakened around his Commander, and he most definitely couldn’t just avoid Tom for the next five years.  Not only was it unprofessional, but he couldn’t been seen as unfit for his position, or at least, not _more_ unfit, by his crew.

Draco hummed as he tapped on his holopad several times.  “Commander Riddle has more knowledge on this topic than I do.  You may want to ask him.”

“Therapy.”  Luna broke her silence.  Both men turned to face her, Draco pursing his lips.

“Explain.”

“That scar, it is connected to trauma, isn’t it?  To the desperation and pain you felt during the moment you received the wound,” Luna asked rhetorically.  “Avadra energy, in itself, shouldn’t be the cause of your headaches.  It’s a neutral force.  Your mind, however, has connected Avadra to pain and suffering.  In other words, there is nothing physically wrong with you, but your mind is torn.  Whenever you perceive a stressor nearby, you react subconsciously, leading to a headache.” 

Draco blinked at the revelation, and Luna hums in agreement before returning to her sorting.  Harry was pretty sure Luna could single-handedly take over the whole ship with her Seer ability, and only her pleasant nature was stopping her.

“So it’s all in my head,” Harry said flatly.  “I’m crazy, is that it?”

“You’re not a lunatic, Potter, don’t get your panties in a twist,” Draco scowled.  He pushed up his glasses.  “It’s a normal psychological reaction for a Human, I believe.  Seeing Avadra reminds you of a painful experience, and your mind replicates this pain.  That is why Nurse Lovegood recommended therapy.”  Here, Draco’s voice softened slightly.  “I suggest confiding in a close friend, put the past behind you and come to peace with it.  I know that nobody knows exactly what happened on the _Death Eater_ before you escaped, and it is usually recommended to work through past trauma with a trusted confidant. Granger or Weasley, perhaps?”

Harry closed his eyes and pinched his nose.  There was a _reason_ he never told anyone.  He didn’t need to be seen as weaker, especially when so much responsibility was already on his shoulders and so many people doubted him.

(He also never, ever wanted to relive the experience, but he wasn’t going to admit that to anyone any time soon.)

“Thanks for the advice,” Harry said, standing.  He threw a grateful, if bitter, smile at Draco.  “I really appreciate the thought and research you put into this.”

Draco just harrumphed.  “You can pay me back by taking care of yourself, Potter.  Despite what you believe, some of us _do_ like you,” he said, somewhat grudgingly, as if admitting the fact was as painful as pulling teeth.  Luna giggled.

“Bye Harry!  And talk to someone!  It stops the crumpled horned snorkacks from sucking out your brain!”

* * *

The headache didn’t lessen, even though Harry knew what was wrong.  He was crazy.  His brain was dreaming up things that weren’t there. 

It was harder to deal with an injury when it wasn’t physical.

He still woke up with a scream stuck in his throat and sweat beading on his forehead.  He still downed painkillers like candy and tried to get his rest where he could.  He still commanded the ship, exploring uncharted space and navigating diplomatic situations with races who wanted to join the Space Federation.  He still felt the yawning blackness of space.

But it was better after Nurmengard, Harry could admit.  Tom was still as unapproachable as ever behind seemingly genuine friendliness and the easy comradery he had with the crew, but Blaise interacted with Harry more, joking and teasing like they were old friends.  Draco found it in himself to be less harsh (by a miniscule amount, because the day Draco decided to be nice to Harry was the day that pigs flew) and grudgingly accepted the Captain’s presence in the medical bay when Harry just needed a place to escape to. 

“You don’t have to be friendly with me because of – of some misplaced sense of gratitude,” Harry muttered under his breath once.

Blaise only tilted his head.  “I’m not doing it because you saved countless lives.  Well, I’m kind of doing it because of that.  But is it so hard to believe that I want to get to know you better?”

Harry dropped the subject after that, something warm bubbling in his stomach.

It was…easier, dealing with whispers and stares in the hallways, trying not to eavesdrop on gossiping technicians and ensigns.  If he was feeling down, Hermione or Ron would find him, or he could escape to the pristine medical bay when he kept seeing blood on his hands from the lives he couldn’t save, and Blaise would sometimes invite him over for video games.  Even the prickly Zacharias sometimes ate in silence with Harry when none of his other friends were around, with the occasional discussion of advanced weaponry in space.  Zacharias seemed surprised Harry knew so much about it when they broached upon the subject of shields, palings, and the pros and cons of both.

It was nice.  Harry shouldn’t have expected it to last.

* * *

The mission was supposed to be routine.  Neville, the botany geek that he was, wanted a sample of the planet’s flora.  It was a deserted planet, as far as Harry could tell, devoid of animal life.  Tom had volunteered to go down with Harry, who had just wanted some fresh air that wasn’t recycled by the ship and breathed by a hundred other crew members.

“I’m curious as well.  It is not often that there are only plants on a planet and not a hint of wildlife,” Tom said easily, grinning that disarming smile.  Harry nodded.

“We’ll go down together.  With the Captain _and_ the Commander on this mission, what could go wrong?”

Harry had spoken too soon.  It turned out that a lot could, in fact, go wrong with a routine mission.

The planet itself was beautiful.  Harry would have to come up with an appropriate name for it, something that wasn’t as dull as Knockturn XI or whatever number they were on now.  The sky shone with the force of three suns, each a differently sized burning orb in the green sky, which provided plenty of sunlight for the gargantuan trees and delicate ferns covering the ground.  The plant life itself was colorful, painting the forest in greens and yellows and reds and blues, with fruit hanging low from the boughs of trees and flowers clustering on trunks.

Neville had communicated at great length his displeasure at not being able to go down for a look himself, but the botanist had never been a big fan of the unknown dangers of new planets and preferred to stay surrounded by his nice, controlled greenhouses.

Tom had just collected their samples and carefully tucked them into his bag when there was a vicious hissing sound behind them.  Harry saw a shadow looming above him like he was in some kind of horror movie.

“I thought you said there was no wildlife on this planet!” Harry whispered harshly.

“It seems that the planet life has turned into the wildlife,” Tom observed, calmly, as if nothing was wrong at all with _being attacked by a man-eating plant what the hell Tom,_ before yanking Harry out of the way of acid that burned through the grass where they’d been standing.  There was an ominous trembling, as if the whole forest was coming alive, branches reaching into the sky to block out the three suns and green sky.  “Perhaps you should ask for Lieutenant Commander Diggory to beam us up?  Before we get eaten by the local flora, preferably.”

Harry opened his mouth with a hot retort on his tongue, but the a tree _uprooted itself_ , giant buds on its branches opening into flowers with teeth and drooling some kind of acidic, viscous liquid that withered anything it touched, judging by the smoke wafting from where drops had splattered.  Harry felt kind of sick to his stomach.

“This is like out of a Terran nightmare,” Harry complained, unholstering his phaser to shoot a flower dead in the center.  It flinched and screeched.

“It’s actually quite fascinating to compare the plant life on this planet to other planets’.  With no source of herbivores, they were forced to evolve in search of their own nutrients and adopted a more aggressive hunting method.  Perhaps their diet consists of other plants now, but our presence has definitely triggered their aggressive behaviors.”

“I’m sure this is all quite fascinating, Tom, but if you didn’t notice, we’re about to be _eaten alive by giant plants_.”

Harry hissed as a splash of acid hit his sleeve as Tom rambled on about the local flora trying to kill and eat him.  The ground had become upturned by the activity, with vines swinging down in an attempt to garrote them and roots reaching up to trip them.

“This is the Captain.  Beam us up!” Harry yelled into his comm.

_“I’m locked onto your location.  Beaming in 3…2…”_

There was a rumble as the earth churned.  He saw Tom lose his balance, black eyes widened as a vine tipped in thorns whipped with deadly precision at the Dershite’s neck.  Harry lunged in a split second decision, arm outstretched to knock the vine away.

There was an ominous crack, and Harry cried out when pain blossomed from his wound.  The thorns cut into his skin, etching bloody lacerations into flesh. 

“… _1!_ ”

There was the familiar shifting feeling of being transported off the planet, and when Harry blinked, arm limp by his side dripping blood on the floor, he found himself in the transporter room.

Tom was shocked, eyes glued to Harry’s oddly twisted arm, before a snarl made its way onto his face.

“Oh my _god_ what happened down there?  We need to get you to the medical bay!”  Cedric fretted, fluttering around Harry uselessly for a moment before picking up his communicator.  “Diggory to Malfoy, Harry’s hurt and needs medical attention.”

There was a crackling sound, like Malfoy was sighing.  “What did the idiot do this time?”

Harry let their conversation fade into background noise and turned his attention to Tom.  “Good thing you’re not hurt.”  And Tom wasn’t.  Other than some dirt smudges on his skin and a scowl that radiated annoyance, the Dershite didn’t have a scratch on him.  If that vine had made contact with the Commander’s neck instead of Harry, he’d probably be missing the most valuable officer on the _Marauder._

“I didn’t need your _help_ ,” Tom muttered.  He peered down at the Captain, a baffled sneer smeared across his face.  “Unlike you fragile Humans, I have faster reflexes and a hardier constitution.  There was no need for your interference.”

Harry shifted his broken and lacerated arm.  “Regardless, I don’t think you’d have survived a direct hit to your throat.  That’s where one of your three hearts are, right?” he asked.  Harry was never great at xenobiology, but he had passed the class satisfactorily.  Bitterness welled up, and Harry tried to squash the feeling.  Harry understood how it felt to be saved by someone you didn’t like or trust, but he’d hoped that at least Tom would let him do this.  “You’d have been, at the very least, injured by that hit, regardless of what species you are.”

Tom hissed, his red and black eyes flashing.  “I don’t need you to _protect_ me.”

“A Captain should protect his crew,” Harry snarled back.  Cedric wisely made his way out of the transporter room, and Tom and Harry were left alone.  Harry was glad.  The crew didn’t need to see an argument between their two highest ranking officers.  “I was just doing my job.”

“Yes, but your actions this time were _superfluous_ ,” Tom snapped, drawing closer to loom over Harry.  Harry wasn’t intimidated.  If there was one thing he had to make a point on, it was this.

“Excuse me for not wanting to see you hurt!” Harry shifted so that he stood tall despite the excruciating pain in his arm.  He could feel the encroaching beginnings of a headache.  “Excuse me for wanting the best from my crew.  Excuse fucking me for trying to do my job for once!”

Tom’s eyes narrowed, and he viciously dug at the hint of weakness.  “ _For once?_ Is _this_ what you think your job entails?”

Harry glared, whatever Tom left unsaid weighing on his shoulders.  Perhaps now was finally the time to address the elephant in the room, instead of letting it fester more.  “I know you would have made a better Captain, Tom, but the simple fact is that _I_ am the Captain.  Maybe you’d have handled that situation better, or maybe we’d be actually making some goddamned progress on this ship in the middle of nowhere, but I’m trying my _hardest_ to prove that I’m a competent Captain.  You’ve fought tooth and nail to be seen as a living being apart from the rest of your species’ reputation, while here I am, waltzing in and just taking the ship, and I’m _sorry_ for that, but I’m _trying_ , and you can look down on me all you want, but I will not be accused of not doing my job!”

Tom seemed to freeze in the face of Harry’s tirade.  Silence rife with tension descended between the two, broken only by Harry’s angry panting.

“You think I look down on you?” Tom asked, voice soft.  There was an unreadable look on his face, and Harry turned his eyes away, disgusted in himself and the whole situation.

“I know that the crew doesn’t respect me.  _I_ wouldn’t respect me.  I practically stole the ship away from your hands, and I barely have the needed qualifications to command an entire crew.  You’re better equipped than I am, but I’m _trying_ , Tom.”  Harry wanted to plead with Tom to understand.  Who was he, without this ship, this crew?  “So let me do my job.”

Harry turned away, shoulders hunched.  The argument just enforced the fact that weak, Human Harry wasn’t needed.  It was true.  Tom could have handled the situation himself and made it off the planet with minimal injuries, but Harry had interfered, made the situation worse, and here he was, with a wrecked arm and no pride to speak of.

He ignored the sharp, pounding pain radiating up his limb and echoing in his head and made his way towards the door.  He felt the room spin a bit, but he kept his eyes straight ahead.  He needed to get the arm fixed.  Oh dear god, Harry wasn’t looking forwards to seeing Draco’s smug face, either.

Tom let him go and did not follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please, please bear with me with all the bullshit about Avadra. It involves a lot of hand wavy science. If you're familiar with FF VII, think of it like the lifestream. I tried to relate it to Harry's horcrux, but I think the whole idea just kind of flopped. By therapy, I think I meant something like cognitive therapy. Stop associating his scar and Avadra with his near-death experience, and whenever he's super stressed he'll stop having headaches. I know in real life it's not that simple, but that's the best I could explain it as, so. And no, Voldemort is not Loki with a green, magically glowing scepter. You guys are totally imagining things.
> 
> Here's a quick run-through of everyone's positions:
> 
> Harry Potter: Human, Captain of the Marauder (this poor man deserves a lot of hugs)
> 
> Tom Riddle: Dershite, Commander, head scientist specializing in biology and planet makeup/structure/something? (three guesses as to who I modeled him off of, and the first two don't count)
> 
> Ron Weasley: Human, Lieutenant Commander, tactician
> 
> Cedric Diggory: er something big and scaly, Lieutenant Commander, head engineer
> 
> Draco Malfoy: Veela, Lieutenant Commander (I don't actually know how many there are supposed to be, but in this story there are three. yes. I'm sorry for my ignorance.), doctor
> 
> Blaise Zabini: something with cool psionic powers (modeled after Sollux Captor cuz hell yes plz), Lieutenant, navigator
> 
> Hermione Granger: something blue, Lieutenant, communications and linguistics
> 
> Zacharias Smith: ...something I never actually assigned him any cool alien features go wild use your imagination, Ensign, weapons and shields and shit (works closely with Blaise, it's smug central up in that part of the bridge)
> 
> Luna Lovegood: something spooooky, Head Nurse, ...head nurse
> 
> Again! I don't know anything about Star Trek other than the movies (and that was mostly to see Chris Pine's and Burnadette Cumberbitch's dreamy faces), so it's all passing knowledge! I also don't know anything about navy military structure or responsibilities or anything, I'm just a poor ignorant writer. So shoot me a review if something's bothering you!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a third chapter. It's like ripping a bandaid off. Just take it and leave me be. Warning for Ron's abysmal sense of humor, please ignore him he was raised in a barn.

Draco was Not Amused, capital letters required.  Luna flitted around in worry, and although she didn’t See any complications with stitching up and straightening Harry’s arm, she still fluttered like the most spastic butterfly around Harry.

“This will scar, unfortunately,” Luna mourned.  “You have such nice skin, too, but you also have a tendency to scar it.”

Harry snorted.  “Good thing I don’t really care for beauty.”

“Good thing you don’t seem to care for your health either,” Draco spat back.  His eyes were focused on Harry’s skin as he viciously dug a needle into the flesh.  Harry was infinitely grateful Luna made sure to anesthetize him.  “You’re injured every couple of weeks.  We might as well designate a corner of the med bay for our esteemed Captain.”

Harry winced.  “I’m-”

“And if you even dare _apologize_ I will make this the sloppiest patch job and set your bones wrong so that you’ll never regain full use of it,” the Lieutenant Commander interrupted.   He finished tying off the last of the stitches and ran a critical eye over the repaired cuts.  Draco adjusted the device that was cutting off sensation from Harry’s whole arm and fiddled with several dials and buttons.  “This will sting.  Nurse Lovegood, if you will let me know when the limb is in position.”

“Of course,” Luna agreed.

Watching Draco twist his arm until the bone was lined up without any feedback from his own nerves was incredibly unsettling to watch.  Harry focused his eyes on a row of bottles, each holding different alarming shades of liquids that Ron jokingly called Draco’s ‘potions’, trying not to listen to Luna’s muttered directions and Draco’s acknowledging grunts.

It took the better part of ten minutes before Draco muttered, “Finished.”

The doctor poured some kind of liquid over his skin that hardened and immobilized his arm.  Luna hummed happily.  “It’ll set right, and I promise there will only be minimal scarring.  You’ll still be as handsome as always.”

“Thank Luna,” Harry said dryly.  “I appreciate it.”

“The rest of the ship will appreciate it too,” Luna said cheerily.  Harry didn’t quite know what she meant.

“Keep off of it for the next month, by which I mean _do not sneak off to the gym and no missions until then._ I know you, Potter, and I’ll hear of even a whisper that you aren’t taking care of yourself,” Draco warned severely as he cleaned his instruments and turned off the numbing machine.  He didn’t bother completing the threat. 

Tingles began making itself way up his fingers, like fire ants were crawling up his forearm and trying their hardest to return sensation to it. 

“I’ll give you some painkillers.”  Draco dropped the hooked needle into a sharps container and a bloodied cloth in the incinerator.  “Have you talked to anyone about your trauma?”

Harry glared at the doctor as he pocketed the proffered bottle of pills.  “No.  I haven’t had time. And it’s not _trauma-_ ”

“You have a month off now.  Make time,” Draco replied, dry as a desert.  “It’s your best chance at getting rid of those headaches.  And it’s trauma when you’ve received lasting effects from the incident that has a negative effect on your psyche.”

“I’m not _weak_!”

Draco seemed to be at the end of his rope and looked close to throwing his arms in the air if it weren’t against his Veela nature.  “Did I say you were weak?  Potter, I swear to god, nothing is wrong with you, nor are you weak.  There’s nothing wrong with talking about it, and you haven’t become any less competent.  Does this flesh wound make you a weaker Human?”

“I can’t even use my arm,” Harry muttered mulishly.

“And when it heals, you’ll be back to baseline.  Mental traumas are the same.  You are not a weaker Human, and if you can face it head on like the adult you pretend to be and _talk to someone_ , you will begin to heal.”  Draco turned around, a clear dismissal.  Luna shifted and drew closer to Harry, as if she wanted to hug him but couldn’t because she was…well, incorporeal.

“Talk to someone, Harry,” Luna urged.  “I know it’s not easy reliving memories that are painful, not as easily as Draco makes it out to be, but I really hope you don’t just bottle it up.”

Harry sighed, resigned, and wondered if Hermione or Ron was around.

* * *

“What a git,” Ron spoke through a mouthful of pasta.  Harry, long used to the display, sipped from his mug of coffee.

“Draco does have a point,” Hermione pointed out, which wasn’t really what Harry wanted to hear.  Ron was the supportive friend, and Hermione was the one who wasn’t afraid to speak her honest opinion.  “Harry, it’s not healthy repressing memories and emotions.  I know you don’t like talking about them, but you’ll only be stuck going in circles if you don’t.”

“I’m doing perfectly fine not talking to anyone.”  Harry pushed his peas around the plate, battling them with the carrots.

“Yes, you’ve been fantastic.  That’s why you’ve been having chronic migraines and hate what you’re doing right now,” she said, dry as a desert planet.  She sipped at her drink.  “Your _dream_ had been to captain a ship, Harry, ever since we met you, but now that you’re here, you’re miserable.”

“Can we stop talking about this,” Harry asked impatiently.  The meat loaf on his plate made a valiant effort to breach the carrot’s encampment, but even the combined forces of his peas and meat loaf couldn’t defeat the carrots.  It was a riveting battle.  Truly.

“Fine,” Hermione huffed, and Ron rolled his eyes in exasperation.  Hermione shot him a dirty look.  “Why don’t we talk about your relationship with that Ensign?  Lavender Brown, was it?”

Ron choked.  “What – where – I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Luna saw you kissing her,” Hermione said smugly, to which Ron turned as red as his hair.

“Well,” the Human blustered, “what about you and Zabini, huh?  Every time I see you two on the bridge, you’re always flirting!”

Hermione turned a dark blue and shut her mouth, properly chastised.  Harry sighed.  His friends, honestly, were all just a bunch of toddlers masquerading as a professional crew.  Gossipers, the lot of them.

“Captain, may I have a moment of your time?” a familiar voice asked, and Harry looked up to find Tom standing patiently by his chair, hands folded behind his back formally.  There was a neutral expression painted on his face despite Ron’s glare, eyes focused only at Harry.

Harry really didn’t want another altercation now.  It’d been a very long and frankly shitty day, starting from the disastrous mission and ending with scoldings from both Draco and his best friends.  He was tired and in pain.  He really didn’t want to do this ever, let alone _now_.

“Can it wait until tomorrow?” he asked wearily, and Tom’s lips thinned.

“I’d rather it not.  It concerns our…earlier discussion,” the Commander admitted.  Harry sighed and pushed away his food.  With a bit of awkward maneuvering and juggling, he managed to gather his utensils and cup onto one plate and balance it in his one functional hand.

“Talk to you later,” Harry said.

Ron narrowed his eyes suspiciously.  “Yeah.  Later.”  Hermione glanced between Tom and Harry concernedly, and when Tom turned to leave the mess hall, Hermione mouthed _‘later’_.

Harry exhaled sharply and followed Tom out of the mess hall, stopping only momentarily to drop off his food into the incinerator.  He trailed after Tom and was surprised when the Commander led them to the main crew’s cabins.  Not a word was said between them.  Tom clearly wanted to keep whatever he wanted to talk about private.

Harry was pretty sure he knew what the upcoming conversation would be about.  No doubt Tom would express his doubts about Harry’s ability to pilot the _Marauder_ and lead her crew, suggest an alternative that would give himself more power, perhaps even say that he’d messaged command back at the Federation about how Harry wasn’t competent enough and needed more education.  Perhaps Tom was being merciful by having this conversation in private. 

Tom led them to his own quarters, keying in a code that caused his cabin doors to whir open quietly.  Tom gestured at Harry to enter first, and he followed shortly after.

“Please sit,” Tom invited before sitting in a comfortable, well-worn chair in front of a small desk.  There was a desktop computer on one end of the table, several small stacks of paper on the other.  Harry took refuge in another armchair.

The room was…stark.  Tom clearly hadn’t felt the need to personalize his own private quarters.  The whole area was utilitarian, devoid of anything not necessary.  In one corner was a bed, its sheets and comforter neatly folded.  Even Harry had some small sentimental possessions decorating his own room: pictures of his mother and father before they passed and small knickknacks that had somehow survived his escape from Nurmengard.

“What did you need to talk about?” Harry asked stiffly.  He lifted his chin, outwardly portraying confidence that he definitely didn’t feel. 

Tom breathed deeply through his nose and steepled his fingers.  He looked at Harry from over his hands, dark eyebrows furrowed and red veins clear against his pale skin.

“I believe that there is some misunderstanding between us,” Tom said, more subdued than usual.  He peered determinedly at Harry, as if he wanted Harry to clearly understand his every word.  “You have some…beliefs about my nature and how I view both you and your position on this ship, and I’m afraid I do not know my Captain as well as a Commander should, especially within a crew as tightly-knit as ours.”

Harry took a minute to parse through what Tom had just said.  Tom thought he, what, was misunderstanding the nature of their relationship?

“I don’t understand,” he said slowly.

Tom lowered his hands so that he was leaning on his forearms.  There wasn’t even a crack in his composure, and no thoughts or emotions leaked from his expression.  “You think you’re not fit for Captaincy.  Why is that?”

Harry snorted and glared furiously at Tom.  He hated this, he _hated_ admitting weakness to someone as respected and intelligent as the Commander.  “I think you know exactly why,” he grit out.

“Humor me.”

Fine.   _Fine_ , if Tom wanted to hammer his point home, Harry would play along.  It wasn’t as if this conversation would bring anything new to the table, anyways.

“I don’t meet the qualifications for Captaincy,” Harry admitted, and bitterness burned in his gut.  “Do you know what my assignment was supposed to be before I snuck aboard the _Marauder_?  Cargo pilot.  I was supposed to be the pilot of a cargo ship, with a crew of three or four and a bright future in shipping goods to and from planet colonies.  I dreamed big though, so I arrogantly broke rules and snuck onto the _Marauder_.  Dumbledore didn’t even think I had the right experience or talents to work on the Space Federation’s flagship before then.”  And didn’t _that_ knowledge feel like a stab in the heart.

“Is that the only reason why you don’t think you’re qualified?” Tom asked, somewhat incredulously.  “Because you weren’t assigned onto the _Marauder_?”

Trust Tom, the ruthless, efficient, relentless Commander that he was, to get to the heart of the situation.  That’s what would have made him such a good Captain.  He tolerated no nonsense, knew exactly what needed to be done in what situation, and handled the crew with care and concern that spoke of close relationships between him and everyone he worked with.

“I took this position from you,” Harry snapped mercilessly from Tom.  He watched with satisfaction as Tom recoiled minutely.  “You were supposed to be Captain, you were _trained_ to be Captain, and don’t pretend you weren’t insulted when some green fresh graduate pranced his way onto your ship and took your job.  I don’t have the trust of the crew, nor do I have their respect.  I was given this position because of my _dad_ , alright?

“You, though, you’re so much fitter for Captain,” Harry continued, fully into releasing this tension and stress that had building up ever since the _Marauder_ left Terra.  He gestured at Tom’s entirety in a broad sweep, indicating everything Tom was, his very being.  “You’re smart, you passed all your classes with flying colors, you rose above everyone to become one of the Space Federation’s elite despite the fact that nobody these days can seem to trust a Dershite, you’ve worked _so hard_ for everything, and here I come, with only seven years of education under my belt and nothing to my name.  I’m, in all sense of the word, underqualified for Captaincy.”

Harry took regulating breathes after his outburst.  He’d never admitted this to anyone, not to Ron, not to Hermione.  He’d never expressed his doubts, this gnawing self-hatred and incrimination that grew like a parasite for weeks.  And there he went, showing his ugliest, weakest side to Tom at just a little prod.  He closed his eyes.

Maybe he should resign.  Maybe he can turn Captaincy over to Tom and disappear into the bowels of the _Marauder_ , never to be seen again except by engineers.  Nobody would have to suffer his presence anymore for the next five years.  Maybe…

“You’re wrong.”

Harry’s thought cut off.  “Pardon?”

Footsteps echoed in the room as Tom approached Harry, and a hand gently lifted Harry’s downturned face upwards.  The touch left just as quickly, as if Tom didn’t want to prolong contact between them, and Tom knelt on his knees so that he was lower in height than Harry, forcing him to make eye contact.  Harry stared, bewildered, at the image.  The apathy seemed to have bled out of the Commander, and instead there was a weariness and sadness.

“You’re wrong, Captain.  I respect you for who you are and what you’ve done for this ship.”

“You don’t need to pity me, Tom,” Harry said, and the fight leaked from him as well.  _God_ , he was such an idiot.

“I’m not pitying you.  Captain, Harry, listen to me,” Tom demanded, long, pale, cold fingers finding Harry’s shoulder and gripping at his shirt, an anchoring touch in the middle of Harry’s emotional turmoil.  “I do not know where or how you formed these conclusions, but I can tell you that you are wrong.  I respect you, Harry.  It is true that I was bitter at first, but upon seeing all that you have done for the crew, all that you have sacrificed for this ship, and how hard you work, I cannot deny that you have earned your position.  I was just angry earlier because, like you do not like to see us hurt, I do bit want to see you hurt.”

Harry closed his eyes, unconvinced.  What was the point of this conversation again?  Was Tom building him up, only to let him down gently by saying how he wasn’t qualified?  “Pretty words, Tom.”

“I speak only the truth, and I will do everything I can to convince you of my argument,” Tom said firmly.  “You think you’re underqualified.  After I met you, I looked up your files.  You took every elective you could, Harry, a near impossible feat due to the sheer number of electives available to the command track.  You are well versed in engineering, science, tactics, and command.  You’ve passed every test with flying colors, and your aptitude tests for intelligence are some of, if not _one of,_ the best in the academy.  How can you think you’re underqualified?”

“Scores are just numbers on a piece of paper,” Harry said bitterly.  He watched the tendons in Tom’s hand stretch and shift under pale skin.

“You’re intelligent, nearly beating my own scores by only a slim margin.  You’re also brave, compassionate, and kind.  You’re strong-willed and charismatic, and after the events with…with Voldemort,” Tom paused over Voldemort’s name and tasted it with mild disgust, “I do not see how anyone would believe you not suitable to be Captain of this ship.  You’ve sacrificed yourself three times, now, for the wellbeing of your crew.  You are everything this ship needs.”

“Tell that to everyone else,” Harry muttered sullenly.  He flickered his eyes away from those intimidating red and black orbs, trying to find anything else to look at and settling on Tom’s forearm.  The Dershite was always impeccably dressed, put together and composed to the mess Harry was.

“They’re blind if they don’t think you deserve to be Captain,” Tom hissed, more emotion in his voice than Harry had ever heard before.  Harry glanced up, startled, to see Tom’s handsome features twisted into disgust, but not for Harry.  He leaned forward now that he had Harry’s attention, look right into his Captain’s eyes, and said, with a strong, low voice, “You are a good Captain, and I cannot think of any other individual who could perform your job better than you do.”

Harry hiccupped, a near sob, but he bit back the emotions threatening to crawl out of his chest and up his throat. 

“Thought you hated me,” Harry joked weakly, but the honesty managed to sneak past him anyways, turning the joke into a question.

“I do not.”  Tom said it with such conviction, such raw honestly that choked Harry a little.

Harry leaned forward, resting his forehead on Tom’s shoulder.  Tom stiffened but did not move to displace Harry, even leaning forwards obligingly so that they were more comfortable.

“You really believe so?” Harry didn’t mean it to sound so tentative, but the question wobbled fragilely in the air between them.

“Yes.”  Tom flexed his fingers.  “I know we were never close, but I wish to impress upon you that I cannot imagine the _Marauder_ without you at her helm.”

Harry cried, silently, tears slowly leaking onto Tom’s shirt, undoubtedly ruining it, but Tom didn’t move, a solid presence.  They stayed like that for an hour, sharing a quiet, intimate moment in the endless expanse of space.

* * *

Harry’s relationship with Tom changed after that.  Not quite close friends yet, no, but Harry thought that maybe they trusted each other more.  Harry remained unconvinced that his crew genuinely thought he was a good Captain, but at least Harry knew that Tom didn’t quite dislike him as much as previously believed.

It was okay.  Everything would be okay.  Harry repeated this to himself like a chant. 

The month passed quickly between enforced breaks and sleep (Draco had set Hermione upon Harry with a vengeance to make sure he ate properly and didn’t strain his arm), shifts on the command deck, and an increasing amount of time spent with Tom.  They shared meals more in the mess hall, Tom settling into Harry’s group of friends like he belonged there and dragging Zacharias and Blaise and, surprisingly, even Draco along, to Ron’s consternation and Hermione’s (hidden) delight.

The Commander’s words stuck to Harry like a burr.  Tom had been almost uncharacteristically kind that night, steady like a rock when he spoke, as if he truly believed what he’d said.  Had Tom been lying out of pity for his overwhelmed Captain, or did he really think that Harry was a good at his job?  Harry didn’t know, but at least someone on this ship other than Ron and Hermione seemed to like him, which was…nice.

Either way, whether Tom had been lying or not, Harry felt just the smallest amount of weight lifted from his shoulders.  It wasn’t enough, certainly not _nearly_ enough to drive away the nightmares of green energy and exploding ships, but it…helped.  He didn’t feel as miserable these days, and space wasn’t as much of a yawning abyss as it had been before.

Maybe, with time, everything would be okay.

But of course, due to Harry’s absolutely abysmal luck, he only had two months of reprieve before everything went to shit again.

* * *

“I’m just saying, theoretically, would you rather have your significant other turn into a goat by 5% every month, or would you rather wake up one day and realize you’re a goat?” Ron asked during a particularly dull shift.

“Why can’t I just switch to another significant other?” Zacharias asked, rather logically, from his seat, where he was spinning around in his chair as fast as he could.

“That would defeat the point of the question,” Ron exclaimed.  “Come on, humor me.  I’m so bored I think my brains are about to leak through my ears.”

“That’s assuming you had any brains to begin with,” Zacharias muttered lowly.  Tom, being the professional that he was, only quirked his lips in amusement while Harry had to cover his own mouth to mask laughter.  Ron, fortunately, hadn’t heard the insult.

“So it’s either me becoming a goat, or my theoretical girlfriend becoming a goat?” Blaise asked, waggling an eyebrow at Hermione.

“I only date sentient beings,” Hermione replied sweetly. 

“Hey, how do you know goats aren’t sentient?  They’re smart animals!”

“Fine, I only date smart sentient beings that speak intelligently,” the linguist retorted, a teasing smile on her lips.  “And that, my friend, excludes you.”

“Hey!” the psionic protested.  Ron mimed throwing up behind Hermione’s back.

“What about you, Harry?” Ron asked, spinning to face Harry, who was praying for strength and sanity.  He’d finally gotten his cast taken off, but it seemed only one nuisance had been replaced with another in the form of his best friend.  Tom seemed to be in a similar mindset of annoyance, face set in a pleasant, wooden expression that betrayed not a thought.  Harry felt vindictively satisfied that the Commander had to suffer through this conversation as much as he did.

“Unless somehow I start dating a shapeshifter, or I was born to parents who were goats, _which I would know about_ , I think neither option would be possible,” Harry replied serenely.  He dealt with Ron’s bull all through Hogwarts, he could deal with more of it.

“You’re no fun, Harry,” Ron sulked.  “Fine, I’ve got another one.  Would you rather have nipples the size of a dick, or a dick the size of nipples?”

“RON!” Hermione roared halfway through the question, trying to drown out the rest of the Lieutenant Commander’s _highly_ inappropriate question.

Zacharias shot a truly disgusted look at Ron.

“Can we get back on track, _please_ ,” Harry practically begged, and Ron snickered.

“On track of what?  We haven’t found _any_ new planets, there’s nothing to get back on track with.”

As if right on cue, there was a ping from Blaise’s control panel.  Blaise frowned and rapidly typed into his console.  “There is a ship approaching us.”

“It’s _hailing_ us,” Hermione added, pressing several buttons.  She pursed her lips.  “They speak the common language.  Pulling up video communication now.”

A screen flickered to life on the control deck’s large window.  A heavily furred alien appeared on the screen, with low, protruding brows and grizzle, wild hair.  He stood hunched over, dirty claws of his hands practically raking the floor.

“Greetings, ladies, gentlemen,” the man said in a low growl, rough and feral.  He bared yellowed teeth.

“Greetings.  Do you require assistance from us?” Harry asked, sitting tall and confident in his seat.  He wracked his mind and finally placed the alien as a Kveldulf, a shifter who lived between the more common bipedal alien form and a four legged creature.  Hah, speaking of shifters.  Harry idly wondered if the alien shifted into goats, by any chance.

“M’name’s Fenrir Greyback, and this beauty is the _Snatcher_ ,” the man drawled.  Beside him, another Kveldulf gave a high laugh, which only made Greyback’s smile widen.  “What’s a Space Federation ship doin’ out here in the asshole of space, eh?”

Oh good, Harry wasn’t the only one who called uncharted land the ‘asshole of space.’

Harry narrowed his eyes contemplatively.  It was best not to give away too much, especially considering he didn’t know the risk factor Greyback and his ship presented for the _Marauder_.

“We’ve got an exact location,” Blaise said quietly.  He glanced at Harry and said, too low for the microphones to pick up, “I think they’re a pirate ship.  It looks like they’ve got some add-ons for their ship that weren’t acquired legally.”

“Just a bit of exploration,” Harry said airily, acknowledging Blaise with a subtle nod.  “How can we help you?”

Greyback snorted.  “Exploration, ya say.  Well, it don’t matter to me.”  Greyback’s hunched even lower, as if he could lunge right through the screen and onto their ship.  “Surrender yer goods, else we open fire on yer ship.”

Well, yes, it seemed they were, indeed, pirates.  Zacharias hurriedly began communicating with Cedric to bring up power levels for shielding and begin rerouting power from nonessential functions to their repulsors.  The _Marauder_ would have to be prepared for a fight.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Harry replied mildly, smiling at Greyback.  Show strength and calmness in the face of danger, do not give away a hint of weakness.  He was the Captain of the _Marauder_ , and he needed to act like one. 

“Then we’ve got a problem.  Sorry we couldn’t reach an agreement,” Greyback replied with mock sadness, and the screen cut off.  The moment the screen blinked out, the rest of the crew flew into flurried action.

“Zacharias, bring all shields and repulsors online.  Blaise, if you can find an opening, take it and make a jump.  We can’t afford to attain damages so early in the journey,” Harry barked at his crew.  “Hermione, monitor all communications, make sure everyone on this ship is aware of the situation.  Ron, I need you to-”

Something rocked the ship, throwing Harry into the arm of his chair.  Tom staggered, staying upright only by the grip he had on the back of the Captain’s chair.  There were cries of alarm, and the ship’s alarm began blaring.  The explosion, undoubtedly from the _Snatcher_ opening fire on them, had been powerful.  Harry hoped whatever hit their ship hadn’t damaged it too much.  Damage to the ship meant possible crew injuries, which also meant possible deaths.

Hermione quickly spoke through her comm.  “Attention, all crew members, we are under attack.  I repeat, we are under attack.  Please go to your assigned battle stations, and…”

“Captain!” Blaise called over Hermione.  “Diggory reports that the warp cells have sustained damage from the attack.  They are busy rerouting power at the moment, but apparently that hit damaged parts of the engineering platform.”

Harry cursed before snapping, “Zacharias, shields and repulsors.”

Zacharias made a triumphant sound as the shields finally powered up, a lattice of transparent blue energy that wrapped around the ship like a bubble.  Another smaller tremor rocked the ship, but thankfully the shield absorbed the attack.  With a series of flicks and jiggles of a joystick, Zacharias began returning fire from a single repulsor.  It looked like their other major repulsor had been knocked out of action.  Ron hovered over Zacharias’s shoulder, chewing on his fingernails as he began suggesting tactics to defeat the pirate ship.

“Shit, they’re fast, and they’ve got access to paling technology,” Ron muttered.  “We won’t be able to detect their presence, which is fine as long as we’ve got our own shields up, but we’ll have to bring them down if we want to warp, and we might take hits then.”

“We can’t warp until the cells are back online anyways,” Blaise reported.

Minutes passed, tension fueled as Hermione relayed orders through the ship’s intercoms, Zacharias and Ron tried to figure a way around Greyback’s paling, and Blaise began mapping a path for their eventual escape. 

“Any ideas?” Harry asked Tom lowly.  He couldn’t let pride, or whatever he felt about Tom, get in the way of doing his job.  He’d take advice from the more experienced officer any day to help his crew.

“Not any that you’ve already addressed,” Tom returned tightly.  He narrowed his eyes.  “What’s taking engineering so long?”

Harry stood and hurried over to Hermione’s desk, trying to stay stable with the increasingly violent shudders reverberating down the ship.  “Give me a comm,” he demanded.  “I’m heading down there myself to see what’s going on.”

Hermione glanced at him, distracted by organizing the crew members.  “You sure?”

Harry grinned.  “You might have had me beat at linguistics and communications, Hermione, but I was always better at engineering.  Give me a comm.”

Hermione acquiesced with little argument, and Harry fixed the little device to his ear.

“I’m heading down to engineering to help with whatever they need.  Commander Riddle, you have the conn,” he announced as the elevator doors swept open the moment he stepped up to them.

“Yes, sir,” Tom replied, echoed by the rest of the bridge, and Harry began his descent into the bowels of the _Marauder_.

Harry’s favorite place on the ship had always been the engineering deck.  Sure, the bridge was nice, with its wide view of the stars and space, but no place felt as close to the heart of the _Marauder_ as the engineering deck did.  Harry felt like this was where the actual life of the ship resided, the powerful pulse of engines working on all sides, the low, smooth hum of reactors and hypnotic drone of power cells. 

He stepped onto the grated platform that led to the lowest floor of the ship, a low, rumbling sound echoing around the cavernous space.  There was also an alarming rattling that most definitely did not belong on the ship, and Harry could smell the faint hint of something burning.  Engineers were rushing back and forth, focused on repairing the more delicate machinery and recalibrating gauges knocked loose from the first violent explosion.

Harry easily picked out Cedric’s large, hulking form bent over a complicated console.

“What’s going on?” Harry asked. 

“Nothing major, for now,” Cedric replied darkly.  His nails clicked against the screen, a map of the engineering floor with flashing red areas.  “Everyone’s preoccupied with fixing up small but important things.  We’ve sustained minor damage to several life support systems, easily fixed but needs time.  Our biggest concern is rerouting power to our shields and repulsors to fend off the attackers, but we can’t warp.  The warp cells were damaged, and I haven’t had the time to go fix it.”

“Nobody else can do it?” Harry asked.  He began shrugging off his outer jacket and rolling up his sleeves.

“Nobody’s got enough knowledge to deal with it other than me,” Cedric said, voice tight with tension, “but I can’t head over there.”

“What kind of warp cell?” Harry asked, trying to recall the different kinds of warp cells he’d learned about at Hogwarts and read of in his spare time.  He hadn’t been lying when he’d told Hermione he was one of the top scoring students in his engineering classes.  Not only had he passed with stellar scores in most of them, he’d also consumed scientific article about newer models of ship parts at an alarming speed.  As long as the _Marauder_ functioned off of one of the standard cells and not a customized one, he could probably fix it.

“A Nimbus-2000.  You sure you know how to do it, Harry?” Cedric asked, somewhat disbelievingly.  Harry ignored the pang of hurt those words caused and only nodded shortly, snagging a tool belt and hooking it around his waist.

“I’ve got it.  Focus on rerouting power and make sure nothing worse happens,” he ordered before weaving his way around frantic engineers and under the metal entrails of the ship.  Harry opened a channel directly to Hermione so that he could talk to her and began relaying Cedric’s information. 

Another shudder wracked the ship, and Harry lost his balance, hitting his shoulder painfully against the wall.  He quickly righted himself and continued, but the hit _hurt_.  He grit his teeth and ignored it, quickly finding himself standing in front of the towering warp cells.  They were tall, reaching just over Harry’s head, four wide cylindrical tubes anchored to the ground.

“ _Harry, you need to hurry.  Our shields are losing power,”_ Hermione relayed frantically.

“What about the enemy’s paling?  Ron and Zacharias find a way to lower it?” he grunted, sweat starting to beat at his brow as he unscrewed the first cell’s plating and lowered it to the ground.

“ _They think so, but they need a bit more time._ ”

“Tell them to hurry.  As long as that paling is up, we have no way to counterattack.”

Harry located the problem quickly.  It was an easy fix, thankfully, and nothing too complicated.  He scooted into the small opening on his back, wires centimeters from his nose and darkness enveloping his body, and slid all the way to the center of the giant cell, where a blue glow was emitting.  He took off the insulating lid and unscrewed the covering to the central tube, the main power generating part of the cells.  Several of the coils in the tube, it seemed, had gotten displaced by the hit, and Harry only needed to connect them to the rest of the cell.  Instinct took over, and Harry began connecting wires and securing small bits of machinery until the final part was pushed into place with a satisfying _click_.  Easy, done.

He worked through the four cells, the same problem, the same process.  When he connected the last coil, the four structures began whirring gently, first a slow, steady _thump-thump-thump_ that began speeding up, quicker and quicker.  Harry grinned up at the glowing blue center, and pride burst in his chest.  And then he remembered, quite suddenly, one very important thing about warp cells.

They were large, with heavy casings, and well insulated for a reason.  The middle tubes of the cells containing the coils got very hot, very quickly, when they needed to be powered up for use.  Harry cursed and quickly began reattaching the covering to the central tube, hoping that it wouldn’t get too hot to touch before he finished screwing the covering back.

Halfway through, the metal began to turn scorchingly hot against Harry’s hand that was propping up the covering.  He hissed in pain but ignored it, palm pressed flat up so that the covering could be screwed in securely.

What felt like hours, but was probably only half a minute, passed before he finally finished, and with shaky, burnt fingers that hurt to bend, he finally put the insulating lid back on the tube and slid out of the cell quickly.  Under the brighter lights of the engineering deck, he breathed in sharply as he examined his palms.

Both were a livid red, blisters already breaking out across the skin.  It felt like his hands were on fire, and he groaned as he bent his fingers.  He still had to replace the outer covering of the cell, though, so he bit back his pain and held back tears and set to work.  He forced his hands to move around the smooth metal and shove it back into its original position.

“It’s done,” he panted, voice strained into his comm.  “The cells have been repaired.  See if Cedric can confirm that they’re good to go.”

 _“Got it_ ,” Hermione replied.  There was a brief pause, and then a triumphant sound.  Behind him, the cells whirred even faster, a comforting noise against the tattoo of Harry’s frantically racing heart.  _“They’re working.  Ron’s figured out a way to lower their paling too.”_

“Good.”  At least they should be good to defeat the _Snatcher_.  Pirate ships typically invested more in stealth technology than aggressive repulsor technology, simply because they needed to sneak around space under the radar of the Space Federation.  Harry was pretty confident they would be able to defeat Greyback once their defensive mechanisms were lowered.

He slowly began making his way back to Cedric.  The engineer took one look at Harry and winced.

“Shit, I should have gone and done it,” Cedric said.  He wiggled his own hands covered in scales.  “Heat resistant.”

“Nobody’d be here to control the ship’s power then,” Harry reassured.  He leaned tiredly against the engineering control frame, carefully holding his palms away from any contact.  “We’re good to go?”

“Almost.  We need two repulsor pulses to simultaneously connect with the paling to disrupt it.”  Cedric began tapping at his screen and pointed at a flashing red area.  “Nobody’s gone to repair our second repulsor reactor.  It was marked as low priority because we still have our strongest repulsor working, but we need two to lower that paling.”

“Just tell me where to go.”

The following fifteen minutes were torture.  Moving his fingers hurt, but gripping a screwdriver and doing minute calibrating work that the repulsor reactor required was hell.  The shockwaves were getting worse with each hit, the _Marauder’_ s shielding not being able to take as many hits as it had before. 

 _“The shielding’s weakening, Harry.  You need to hurry,”_ Hermione pressed.  “ _Smith says we can only take two or three shots before they fall_.”

“I’m _trying_ ,” Harry snarled, tremors running through his fingers as he forced them to bend and nudge delicate parts back into place.  There were a couple more shudders, and Hermione cursed.

 _“Harry!_ ” she exclaimed, right when the final part clicked into place.

“Got it-” Harry began before an explosion to rival the first one hit the ship.  He lost his balance and fell backwards.  There was a burst of pain in the back of his head, and then nothing.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Wow!!! I'm so, so happy about all your reviews. Honestly, I was expecting someone to say something about how the fic wasn't loyal to the Star Trek franchise or something, or maybe about how I knew nothing about what I was talking about with the whole depression/PTSD thing and treatment, but none of you said a thing, and it was all positive praise. Really surprised, I was kind of scared how it would be received. But it was okay!
> 
> Anyways, thanks for reading! This chapter is like, half backstory and half fluff. All fluff. Hurt/comfort fluff.

The steady beep, beep, beep of something horrendously annoying pierced through Harry’s fog of sleep.  He groaned in irritation and tried to fling out his hand to turn off whatever the hell that was.  His attempt, unfortunately, was met with failure when his arm only twitched and refused to move.  His hands felt heavy, a headache different from his scar induced ones pounded right behind his left eye, and it felt like something had gone and died in his mouth.

“Did anyone catch the cargo ship that ran me over?” he croaked.  He squinted at the blinding white of the med bay, hoping someone had heard him.

Fortunately, there was someone who heard him.  Unfortunately, this someone really, _really_ wasn’t impressed with Harry.  Harry, personally, thought this was very unfair; it wasn’t _his_ fault he somehow always ended up in the med bay.

“There was no cargo ship, only you and your penchant for getting hurt,” Draco replied.  Harry squinted up at the Veela, frowning, as the doctor shone a light briskly in both his eyes.  “What do you remember?”

Thinking really hurt at the moment, but Harry dutifully recalled what he could.  “I remember Greyback and the… _Snatcher_?  We were having problems with our warp cells, and then I had to go repair the repulsor reactor, and…” Harry winced.  That’s where his memories ended.  “I think I hit my head and passed out.  How long was I out?”

“Diggory found you lying on the floor unconscious.  It’s only been half an hour since then.  Other than some bruising on your scalp, there’s nothing wrong with your head despite your chronic idiocy, which I can’t fix,” Draco snarked.  Harry saw a shift in the air that indicated Luna’s presence.  “You also had some second degree burns on both of your hands, but I’ve managed to replicate new dermis cells, so you’ll be free to use them in a couple of days.”

Harry lifted himself into a sitting position, wincing as his headache spiked.  Draco took pity on him and handed over several pills, hopefully to numb the pain, and Harry downed them dry.

“The ship’s okay?  The crew?  We got away?” he asked.  Draco surely would have informed him earlier if something serious had happened.  He’d need a full report from Tom later, but for now everything seemed fine. 

Draco nearly rolled his eyes but instead pushed up his glasses in an exasperated manner.  It was amazing how many emotions the doctor could convey with only a couple of eyerolls.

“Everyone’s fine, Harry!  Although I can’t say I’m happy to see you here again,” Luna scolded, swooping down so she was, presumably, face to face with Harry.  “There weren’t many people hurt thanks to your quick repairs, but did you have to go and hurt yourself again?”

Harry shrugged.  “I had to, to repair our warp cells.”

“You’re an imbecile, Potter,” Draco said as he pulled out a scanner to monitor Harry’s vitals.  The small scanner beeped, and Draco gave a small hum of satisfaction.  “Nurse Lovegood, do you See any complications?”

“No injury present other than the healing burns across his palms,” Luna reported.  “Only a very mild concussion, which he’ll have some nausea for.”

“Good.  Now get out of my med bay, I’ve seen you too often since we departed and I don’t want to suffer your presence any more than I have to,” Draco huffed and, with the air of an offended cat that smelled something distinctly repulsive, left in a whirl of his doctor’s coat.

Harry laboriously got to his feet, wincing when he had to put pressure on his hands.  Dealing with them wouldn’t be fun for a while.

* * *

“I’ll make sure something like this doesn’t happen again,” Cedric said, grimly.  “We were unprepared this time, but next time something strong hits the ship, I’ll make sure it won’t damage our equipment as badly.”

“Do you have a plan to avoid damage to our equipment in case of attack?” Harry asked, flicking through his holopad with stiff fingers.  There were dozens of reports from various engineers about damages, but he had the alpha shift members in the room with him so he wouldn’t need to read through their reports too.

“We’ve got several temporary measures in place to stabilize and secure our equipment against impact, but the next time we reach a trading station we’ll need newer parts,” Cedric replied, hands behind his back in a professional resting posture.

“Good, I’ll leave you to it,” Harry said.  He leaned back in his chair and looked over his bridge crew.  “So, what happened since I passed out?”

“The moment you got our secondary repulsor back online, we disrupted their paling and hit them where it hurt.”  Ron was wearing a somewhat vicious grin, and Harry was reminded why the redheaded Human was their tactician.  He knew what to do to win a fight, and he had the strong will to carry it through.

“Paling technology is fascinating, really,” Zacharias said enthusiastically.  He had the self-satisfied air of someone who had gotten his cake and eaten it too.  “Their paling was made of a fluid electric field that hid them from mechanical scanners and eyes, like a bubble that reflected light.  We just needed to pop that bubble, which is where the second repulsor came in.  It had absorbed the energy from our single repulsor and rippled it out like a wave, likely dissipating the attack.  So we hit it in two places at the same time, which made the ripples clash with each other, creating an opening and allowing us to damage their ship.”  Zacharias grinned and folded his arms smugly.  “We hit them hard.  All that’s left of them should be debris.”

“And then we jumped out of there,” Blaise finished.

“Any casualties?  Significant reports of damage?” Harry asked Hermione.  She shook her head.

“Nothing serious, just minor injuries from the first and last impacts.”

Harry grinned, fatigued but so proud of his crew.  They really were the best of the best.  “Good job, crew.  Any additional concerns or comments?”

After several muttered denials and head shaking, Harry stood from his seat, holopad gripped in his hands.  They really didn’t hurt that much anymore, although they did feel more sensitive and stiffer than usual. 

As his crew filed out slowly, Harry noticed Tom hanging behind, attention fixed on Harry.

“What’s wrong?” the Captain asked, rounding the table to close the space between them.  He leaned back against the conference table and looked up at the taller Dershite.  “Was there something you didn’t want to talk about in front of everyone else?”

Tom’s eyes flickered across Harry’s features, mouth turned down slightly.  “Nothing regarding the ship or her crew, no.  How are you doing?”

Harry wiggled his wrapped hands a little.  Stiff, but not painful.  “Doing fine.”

Tom gusted out a sigh through his nose, and spoke, as if talking to a particularly dense child.  Harry felt vaguely offended.  “You burnt off the top layer of skin of your palms, and you were knocked unconscious.  This does not fit the definition of ‘fine’ the last time I checked, Captain.”

Harry blinked slowly.  “Well, all things considered, the ship wasn’t damaged too badly and the crew’s okay.  I’d say that was fine.  Great, even.”

“But are _you_ okay?” Tom pressed.  Harry growled a bit at the repeated question.

“Yes, Commander.”  Using Tom’s official title made the Dershite back away slowly, reminded of their professional relationship.  Harry wasn’t quite sure where this increased concern was coming from, but he didn’t appreciate the hovering.  Harry wasn’t made of _glass_.  “Considering I was the only one seriously hurt during this whole incident, I think this whole thing ended fine.”

Something in those words sparked a simmering anger in Tom, and the taller male folded his arms defensively.  “You’re not expendable, Captain.  You cannot just write off your own health in favor of the rest of the crew’s.”

Harry was getting the distinct feeling of déjà vu.  “It’s my job to keep this ship safe,” Harry replied woodenly.  “I think we’ve had something like this conversation before.”  There was the vague pounding of a headache behind his left eye, although whether that was from his minor concussion or a result of his scar, he couldn’t tell.  He pursed his lips.

“And you have not _listened_ since then!” Tom exclaimed.  “Your own wellbeing is important, Harry.  You cannot keep putting yourself in the path of danger. It’s almost like you’re doing it on purpose!”

“I didn’t willingly endanger myself,” Harry hissed.  And he hadn’t!  True, the burns could have been avoided if he’d asked Cedric to come, but that hadn’t been viable at the moment, so he’d just finished the job.  And the concussion was just an accident.  “What exactly, Commander, are you implying?”

“Just that you need to take better care of yourself, _Captain_ ,” Tom replied angrily.  “This ship needs you healthy and able in order to run smoothly.”

It was the wrong thing to say.  “Well, I’m sorry that I’m not a good enough to take care of myself, and I’m sorry that my current conditions don’t allow me to run _my ship_ to your expectations,” Harry said, stiffly, and turned, intent on leaving before he was tempted to punch Tom in the face.  He didn’t think Draco would be pleased to see him back in the med bay because of a broken hand, since Tom’s face likely wasn’t going to be breaking anytime soon.

The headache spiked suddenly, and Harry winced but kept walking away.

“That’s _not what I said_ ,” Tom growled in frustration, but Harry ignored him and left the room, door hissing shut behind him.

That night in Tom’s bedroom felt lightyears away.

* * *

The next couple of shifts were all very uncomfortable.  The rest of the bridge crew seemed to sense that something was off between Tom and Harry, but nobody dared to say anything.  Ron’s forced cheer overtook the conversation most days, but otherwise the bridge was filled with tense silence.

And all the while, there was a throbbing pain in his head, a relentless pounding present at all hours of the day.

It came to a head, one week later, after Harry’s hands had been unwrapped and he was given a clear bill of health with a warning not to injure himself anytime soon, when he was dragged into the recreation room.  It was empty at this time, most officers either sleeping or on shift.

“Alright, what’s going on between you two?” Hermione asked.  She settled herself on a large beanbag chair, curled comfortably like a cat.  In her hands was a steaming mug of tea from her home world that smelled of summer and flowers.  Another mug had been forced into Harry’s hands.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry replied, playing dumb.

“You know _exactly_ what I’m talking about,” the linguist replied, exasperated.  She took a long sip before continuing.  “You and Commander Riddle were fine before the whole thing with Greyback.  Actually, you two seemed on better terms than usual, but now you’re ignoring each other’s existence like it’s your life job.”

“Nothing,” Harry muttered mulishly into his mug and blew at the tea.  It tasted as good as it smelled.

“I don’t think that’s true,” Hermione replied.  “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong!”  Harry looked out into the dark space beyond a porthole, once so beautiful, now so empty.  “We just had an argument.”

“What about?” Hermione pressed.

Harry rolled his eyes.  Despite it being used against him right now, Harry really did love Hermione’s stubbornness.  She always had a thirst for knowledge and a natural curiosity paired with a mothering instinct, which made her a fantastic communications officer and good friend.  He just didn’t appreciate her using that tenacity on her.

“We talked, before the whole Greyback situation.  You guys had been telling me to talk to someone, and I talked to him, okay?” Harry finally confessed.  He glanced up, afraid Hermione would be offended that he’d gone to someone other than his two best friends, but she was only full of supportiveness and understanding.  He continued, bolstered by her lack of judgement.  “And he said that he believed I was a good Captain.”

Hermione wrinkled her brows and scrunched her nose in confusion.  “I don’t see how that’s a bad thing.”

“And then, after the attack, he stayed behind after the debrief and heavily implied that I had a…I don’t even know, implied that I was looking for ways to deliberately put myself in danger and that I wasn’t a suitable Captain because I kept getting hurt.”

“He actually said that?” Hermione asked, confused.  Tom was usually very personable and didn’t appreciate confrontations.  The fact that he’d brought up something like this meant that he’d thought it was truly important.

“Not outright.”  Harry traced the rim of his mug to give his hands something to do.

There was a silence, and something on Hermione’s face told him that he wasn’t going to like what she had to say.

“He’s not…exactly wrong,” she began tentatively, and Harry immediately began to bristle.  “I didn’t mean that I don’t think you’re not well suited to be Captain!  Actually, I agree that you’re fantastic at what you’re doing!” she hastened to say.  “But I think you’ve got this…saving people thing.”

“A what?”

“A hero complex.  You’re so willing to give and give and give more of yourself until there’s nothing left just to save someone else,” Hermione explained, “but you neglect your own health.  I think Commander Riddle was just expressing his concern.”

Harry scowled like a child.  “He doesn’t think I’m good enough.”

“He’s just _worried_ , Harry!” Hermione exclaimed, shifting her mug to the floor so she could lean forwards, as if proximity would carry her words better.  “We all are.  You’ve saved so many of our lives multiple times, but you come out hurt every single time.  We don’t think you’re incompetent, we just want you to take better care of yourself.”

Harry took another sip.  Maybe, he acknowledged begrudgingly, Hermione was right, and Harry really had just been jumping to conclusions.

“I think it’s great that you’re talking to someone, Harry,” Hermione said, more gently, more quietly.  She smiled, and Harry could see why Blaise was so enamored with her.  “Go talk to him again.  Work it out.”  She gave a tinkling laugh that never failed to lift Harry’s spirits.  “It’ll make alpha shift much more bearable, at least.  No more awkward silence, please.”

Harry drained the rest of his mug and stood.  “I think I will.”  He pulled her up despite the fact that, with her superior strength, she probably didn’t need any help.  Once she was upright, she tugged Harry into a fierce hug.

“You’re doing a great job, Harry,” Hermione whispered in his ear.  He hugged her back and smiled for the first time since the attack.

* * *

Harry never imagined that apologizing would be so hard.  Saying sorry had always come easily to him before, mostly because he knew he’d made some mistake and he needed to be responsible for the consequences of his actions, but this time was different.  For some forsaken reason, Harry actually cared about what Tom thought of him.  The thought that Tom would be disappointed scared Harry.

He stood in front of Tom’s living quarters’ doors, hand poised to knock.  He glared at the door, wishing that it would open by itself, but it stayed stubbornly closed.  He didn’t even know if the Commander was in at the moment.  For all Harry knew, Tom could be in the mess hall having a late night snack.

Maybe he could leave it to tomorrow.  What was one more night of unresolved problems between the two of them?  Harry quickly shut down that train of thought. 

When had he become such a coward?

He knocked and waited, heart beating in his throat.

The door opened, revealing Tom in a comfortable shirt and sweatpants that hung low on his hip and pooled around his toes.

“Captain,” Tom said stiffly.

Harry pushed his fingers through his hair and ruffled it in restless agitation.  “Mind if I come in?”

Tom scanned him from head to toe, took in the dark smudges beneath his eyes and rumpled appearance.  The Dershite moved to the side, allowing Harry to edge past.

“Please sit,” Tom said, gesturing at the same chair Harry had sat in last time.  The Dershite settled on the other side of the desk, features wiped clean of all emotions.  “Did you want to talk about something?”

Harry took in a deep breath and gathered his courage.  “I wanted to apologize.  For our last conversation.  I jumped to conclusions and left rather abruptly and rudely.”

Tom quirked a small smile.  “I’m afraid I must also apologize as well.  I should have presented my argument more tactfully, and I made several offensive implications that were not particularly true.”

“I talked to Hermione after,” Harry offered, determined to see this incredibly awkward conversation through.  He couldn’t let whatever was hanging between them affect their working relationship, and if that meant making him talk about uncomfortable topics with someone he honestly had been growing close to and was beginning to like, he’d do it.

Tom made an inquiring noise.  “And what did she say?”

“That I had a hero complex,” Harry replied wryly.  “That I have a tendency to put myself in danger for the sake of the crew, and that she was worried about my health.  That’s what you were trying to tell me that day, wasn’t it?”

Tom sighed and closed his eyes.  “I had phrased it a bit more rudely, but yes, I believe that was the gist of what I was trying to say.”

“I just wanted to let you know that I’m sorry for how that conversation ended,” Harry said, beginning to rise to leave.  “Didn’t want to sour the air between us for the next five years, you know,” he added jokingly.  He made a motion to leave

“Wait.”

Harry paused, looking up at Tom.  The Dershite had linked his fingers together, a contemplative frown on his lips.  He considered something for a bit before he spoke again.

“I believe our misunderstanding rose because we do not know each other well enough.  Perhaps we could avoid these situations if we told each other more about ourselves?” he asked, and there was something vulnerable about how he’d asked, like he genuinely did want to get to know Harry better but didn’t know how to say it.

Something in Harry melted a bit.  Hermione was right, he did have some kind of hero saving complex.  Look at him, tired from a long day on the bridge and frazzled from working up enough courage to talk to Tom, and here he was willingly putting off on sleeping to make Tom feel better.

“What do you want to know?” Harry asked, settling himself back against in his chair.  At least it was comfortable.  How was it that Tom got all the best furniture, and Harry was stuck with a rickety wooden chair?  He had a feeling the replicator had something against him.

Tom shook his head.  “I do not wish to know about you.  I already know that you are intelligent, brave, and kind,” he said, and Harry felt his cheeks turn hot in embarrassment.  “I know your general past, but not many know of mine.  Have you ever wondered how a singular Dershite managed to make his way to the Federation?”

Harry had, actually.  Dershites weren’t exactly common outside of Voldemort’s army, but Harry hadn’t wanted to be nosy.  Everyone had secrets they wanted to keep, after all.

“No,” he said hesitantly.  “But you don’t have to tell me,” he rushed to add.

Tom smirked.  “The thought is appreciated, but I think Captains and their Commanders should have more than a passing familiarity with each other.  I wish to tell you.”

Harry was…strangely delighted.  He knew nearly nothing about the Dershite other than the fact that he graduated top of his class and was good enough to be chosen as Captain of one of the Federation’s most important ships.  He was eager to know more.

“Alright,” he said, leaning onto the desk and propping his head on a fist.  He attempted to make his body language as casual as possible.  Harry didn’t want this to be a meeting between to officers, but maybe a meeting between tentative…friends?  “Tell me about yourself.”

Tom laughed, a velvet sound that slid through the air.  It was a nice laugh, Harry noted, as Tom pulled open a drawer and pulled out two glasses and a bottle of liquor.

“Drinking on the ship, Commander?” Harry asked teasingly.  “What a rule-breaker.”

“We’re not on shift, Captain,” Tom replied primly, pouring out a finger of alcohol for each of them.  He slid Harry’s glass across the table, which Harry immediately raised to his lips.  The liquid burned nicely down his throat and warmed his belly.  “Alcohol may make this conversation more enjoyable.”

“Are you saying that talking to me without being inebriated isn’t enjoyable?” Harry faked hurt, but his eyes danced in amusement.

Tom only smirked before he began his tale, and then Harry understood why Tom didn’t want to talk while sober.

It was telling that Tom didn’t speak a word about his exploits in the Federation.  He said nothing about his time as an assistant professor at Hogwarts, nothing about his multiple highly lauded scientific papers or his time as a science officer.  He did, however, speak of his home planet, of Dershia.

Tom did not measure himself in what he did or accomplished, but rather where he came from.  He talked fondly about the green wilderness of Dershia, of how every living being, every plant and animal, every Dershite was infused with the natural energy of the planet, Avadra.  He grew up in a powerful and wealthy family, son of a man who loved him and his wife and his planet fiercely, a mother who was always so strong and kind.  Dershian traditions and culture was centered around their planet and the energy that gave it life.  Every Dershite worshipped the Avadra, the giver of all life, and cherished their planet.

And then he spoke about the disasters that fell on their planet in a dull tone, as if the anguish had long been smothered, leaving only the remnants of his memories.  Quakes had shaken the earth, and slowly, surely, the planet began separating itself from the Avadra, rejecting the energy that had sustained life on its soils for so long.  The Dershites had called for help, had sent signals for rescue to the Federation, but no reply ever came.  In a last act of desperation, they had funneled whatever was left of their planet’s energy and fit whomever they could on their own ships and managed to escape, terrified, alone, leaving behind their beloved planet.  Voldemort, angry with the Federation’s inaction, vowed vengeance and disappeared into space, taking a good portion of the Dershites with him.  Tom had been among them.

Here, Tom watched Harry closely, as if waiting to be judged.

Tom described life on the _Death Eater_.  The Avadra, once a nurturing force, had twisted upon itself, become volatile and dangerous without a planet to anchor itself to.  The Dershites used it without mercy to subjugate new planets, acquire new technology, and build a large army, with Voldemort at their helm.  Tom, believing that war was not the answer, had escaped to Terra, where he enrolled in Hogwarts with a dream to help others avoid the same fate that had destroyed Dershia.

Tom spoke in a hushed tone, respect in every word, sadness with every phrase.  He clearly missed his home and his people, no matter how much he disagreed with their principles.  He obviously regretted his time serving under Voldemort, shame and hesitation in how he bravely kept his eyes on Harry, waiting for judgement.

Harry did not judge.  Everyone had something they were ashamed of, and Tom regretted his actions.  Harry understood something like that.

He didn’t feel right, letting Tom be the only one to bare his soul.  So, Harry hesitantly began to talk about his own past.

Harry’s father, James Potter, had been one of the greatest pilots produced from Hogwarts, and Lily had been just as talented and smart as her husband, if not more, an intelligent navigator and quite-witted tactician.  Together, they became a force to be reckoned with, the team that the Federation sent out for important missions.

And then they had disappeared into thin air, leaving behind only the debris of their ship.  They had been sent to a skirmish with Voldemort and his army and were defeated soundly, leaving behind mourning friends and a small infant.  Harry didn’t know his parents, not well, and anybody willing to take care of him died along with his parents on the ship.  He had been passed to his aunt and uncle, a household of abuse and neglect.

His aunt and uncle had been cruel, always favoring his cousin above him.  He was made to do chores, sitting out in the burning sun with not even a hat, cooking breakfast and learning how hot oil could get.  His room was only a small cupboard under the stairs, hardly enough to stretch his arms and legs.  He was told every day, in no uncertain terms, that he didn’t deserve what he had, that nobody would ever love him.

Tom looked murderous at this part of Harry’s story.  Harry was rather glad they were lightyears away from Terra, since the Dershite looked ready to storm his childhood house and raze it to the ground.

Then Harry talked about how Hogwarts had become his new home, where he’d met so many people and formed a close friendship with Hermione and Ron.  Of how he’d always dreamed to sail through space, just like his mother and father, to experience what they’d loved doing and had dedicated their lives to.  Harry thought that he could be closer to them out here.  The disappointment that Harry had been assigned to be a cargo driver had been crushing.

And then he’d snuck aboard the _Marauder_ , fresh out of Hogwarts, and uncovered Voldemort’s plot to attack the Space Federation accidentally.  All it took was a faulty radio, a transmission intercepted.  This part of the story, Tom knew, because Tom had been the one Harry had gone to with his discovery, and Tom had been the one who had sneered at Harry about delusions of glory and subsequently ignored them.  Tom had been the one who had imprisoned Harry in one of their cells aboard the _Marauder_.

“I never did apologize for that,” Tom commented, voice slightly slurred from the alcohol.  They were making rather impressive progress through Tom’s secret stash.

Harry laughed, flushed and more than a little tipsy.  “Honestly, Tom, if I’d just found a stowaway talking about plots to destroy the Space Federation, I wouldn’t have believed him either.  I forgive you.”

Tom snorted, something he’d never do when completely sober.  In fact, when drunk, Tom really didn’t act like his usual self at all.  His hair was in disarray from running his hand through it repeatedly, and there was a charming little smirk on his face.  The red veins around his eyes were much more prominent, dilated from the liquor.

“A-And then,” Harry continued, hiccupping slightly, “remember how you’d finally received a message from our jammed comm from Space Federation Central?  I don’t think nobody ever did figure out why our signaling had been so wonky then.”

Tom hummed, suddenly a bit more subdued.  “We never did,” he agreed. 

“And wow, wasn’t it lucky that I’d found that intercepted transmission about Voldemort’s plan?” Harry continued cheerfully, oblivious to Tom’s growing discomfort.

“…yeah.”  Tom poured himself more alcohol and slammed it back in one smooth motion.  Harry watched the line of the Dershite’s throat as he swallowed.

“Better take it easy, unless you want to feel that tomorrow,” Harry said, amused.

Tom rolled his eyes and chuckled.  It was a nice laugh, deep and low and really mesmerizing.  Harry liked hearing it.  It warmed him down to his toes.

“And then you managed to coerce two of _my_ officers to beam you aboard the _Death Eater_ without a plan and _without my knowledge_ ,” Tom stressed, although his smile indicated that he wasn’t really mad about it anymore.

“And I blew up Voldemort’s whole fleet,” Harry finished smugly, and suddenly, flashes of a cruel smile and green, menacing energy flashed through his head.  And then he could hear the high, cold voice, the pale, balding skull and deep red eyes, a green scepter pointed directly at his forehead, ready to blast his head open like an overripe watermelon, and Harry could remember the overwhelming fear of imminent death, the devastation of ending thousands of lives when he exploded that fleet, the guilt and self-recrimination from taking loved ones from their families, because _Voldemort had done the exact same to his parents, what gave him the right to do it back to other people, they had just been soldiers following orders_ , and he had blood on his hands he could never wash away and was _lauded_ for it, for killing faceless aliens, and was given a ship and patted on the back and-

“-arry, _Harry_.  Breathe.  Harry, _breathe_.”  There was a hand on his back, a warm, comforting weight and a deep voice.  “Match my breathing.  In…out.  In…out.”

Harry struggled to imitate the exaggerated breathes, and slowly, the fog of panic faded, his heart stopped its overwhelmingly fast staccato.  His hands were shaking.  Harry clenched them into fists, frustrated.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Harry gasped, clutching at Tom’s sleeve and looking up at him with pleading eyes.  “I’m sorry, I killed so many of your people, why don’t you hate me?  You have every right to hate me.”

Tom made a small wounded noise, and he drew Harry into a hug.  Harry gripped at Tom’s shirt, fingers clenching and unable to let go.

“Because you did the right thing,” Tom said softly, and there was a pain there, pain for the loss of his people, but there was also conviction and steel in his words.  “Because they would have destroyed a whole planet if you hadn’t.”

Harry clung to Tom’s words.  He had to believe they were true, or he’d go insane.

Tom rested his chin on top of Harry’s head, waiting patiently for Harry to calm down.  Harry breathed deeply, closing his eyes to stop the tears and to slow his heartbeat.  He laughed wetly, derisively, and drew back.  Tom let him, arms dropping, eyeing Harry carefully.

“Sorry.  Sorry, it just built up, and…” Harry trailed off, embarrassed.

Tom shook his head somberly.  “There is no reason to apologize.  Please do not apologize for something like this.”

“You must think me pathetic.”  Harry wiped roughly at his eyes, angry that he’d shown weakness _again_ in front of the Commander.

“Never.”  There was so much surety in Tom’s voice that Harry crooked a smile.  “If you do not feel like talking anymore, I understand.  But I believe that it is best for you to finish your story.  For closure’s sake, if nothing else.”

Harry breathed in, out, in, out, and finished his story.  He explained how he’d been cornered in some kind of engine room after being beamed onto the _Death Eater_ , Dershites on all sides, and in a wild act of desperation and recklessness, fired his phaser at a small, glowing green tube that was connected to a console.  He hadn’t known about Avadra, then, how it was connected to every ship in Voldemort’s fleet.  He’d just been hoping to create a distraction.

And what a distraction it had been.  The line had exploded, throwing Harry backwards and allowing him to escape, buying him just enough time to contact the _Marauder_ , to be beamed out millimeters from death.

“And that’s the story of how I got this scar,” Harry finished, gesturing at his forehead, trying to lighten the atmosphere even if Tom didn’t get the reference.  His hands had stopped trembling by then, possibly because of the shot he’d when he started his story again.  “There are all my secrets,” he said with false bravado, trying to push away the residual panic.

Tom hummed, nodded.  “Thank you.  For telling me,” he said.

Harry shook his head.  It was as if a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders.  Talking about it didn’t erase the nightmares immediately, didn’t just make the flashes of green disappear, but…maybe, Harry thought he could at least get a good night’s sleep.  Maybe it did help a little.

“Thank you for listening,” Harry said.  He grinned shyly up at Tom.  “Really.  Thank you.”

“It was no problem at all, Captain.  I’m glad I could help.” 

Tom paused, frowning slightly.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked.  Oh no, had he overwhelmed Tom with his own issues?

The Dershite opened his mouth, staring at Harry.  He looked like he had something to say, something important.

“Harry, I…” Tom snapped his mouth shut, looking a bit frustrated at himself.  “I need to tell you…”

He pursed his lips until they whitened, glaring down at his glass.  Finally, he shook his head.

“You don’t need to tell me right now,” Harry soothed.  Harry knew how hard it was to tell secrets, to ask a question that was a bit too personal.  No pressure, not right now.  “It’s okay.”

Tom closed his eyes, disappointed, and shook his head like a wet dog.

Tom finally sighed, and in lieu of saying anything, topped off their drinks and raised his own glass in a toast and a small, self-deprecating smirk on his lips.  “To obstinate, independent Captains with no regard for the rules.”

“To competent, responsible Commanders who are the best a Captain could ever ask for,” Harry replied, not quite recovered, no, not yet, but maybe with time, he’ll be okay.  Really, truly okay.  They both finished their drinks.

Tom capped the bottle of liquor and stored it away in his desk again.  “You know,” Tom began, voice a bit more serious than before, “I really was worried about you, back when you were found unconscious on the engineering deck.  Nobody had known what’d happened to you.”

Harry blinked slowly, lethargy beginning to sneak in from both the drinking and the late hour.  “I really appreciate the concern, Tom.”

“After having lost so much, I just don’t want to lose other important people and things in my life,” Tom said, willing Harry to understand.  “And losing more members of this crew, and especially you, would be unbearable.”

Something stuck in Harry’s throat.  He swallowed noisily as his heart began racing at the confession.  It seemed oddly…intimate, that whole statement, this whole experience.  He flushed and hoped the alcohol would cover it.

“I don’t want to lose you too,” Harry replied, and he was surprised to find that he actually meant it from the bottom of his heart.  He didn’t want to continue this expedition without Tom as his Commander, without Ron and Hermione at his side and the rest bickering in the background.  Fondness rushed through him, and he smiled softly, so that it reached his eyes.  “You’re all important to me too, which is why I’m so willing to do anything for you.”

Tom made a strange noise, and when he spoke, eyes fixed on Harry’s smile, he sounded slightly strangled.  Harry was suitably concerned.  “No problem at all.  We’re just as willing to do anything for you as you are for us.”

Harry reached across and patted Tom’s arm in thanks.  He was grateful for…whatever this was.  A bonding moment, a time to talk without distractions, a moment to themselves.

Harry rose, stretching his arms.  He glanced at the clock.  0245.  He’d been talking with Tom for at least three hours now, and alpha shift was in another five.  He needed to get some sleep.  “I think I’m going to head to bed.  Thanks for the talk.”

Tom rose like some great bat unfolding its wings, tall and pale as he courteously walked Harry to the door.

“No, thank you,” Tom said quietly, staring into Harry’s eyes, a gentle expression on his face.  He also smiled, not like those fake ones he wore on the bridge and around other people, not an arrogant smirk, but one that crinkled around his eyes and dimpled his cheeks.

Harry left Tom’s room feeling peaceful and lighter.  It didn’t even occur to him that there he didn’t have a headache.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What was Tom trying to say? ;)
> 
> Also, I'm feeling really inspired to write something surreal, like one of those ones that center around folklore? Except, I know NOTHING about legends, and I don't think I have the right experience to write something like that. So, can anyone point me to an online anthology and/or a fic centered around folklore and legends (from any culture/region, but I'm leaning more towards Gaelic atm)?


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aughhhhh my MCAT is tomorrow. I was told to just not stress, but I'm just a big ball of "ohmyfuckinggod" and "I really can't give another shit about this test."
> 
> Thank you guys for the reviews! Please enjoy!

Harry yawned and tried to cover it with a hand.

“Tired?” Hermione asked, delicate blue eyebrow quirked in amusement.  “How’d that talk with Commander Riddle go last night?”

“You talked to Riddle last night?” Ron jumped in, ever the suspicious and loyal friend.  He frowned and put down his forkful of scrambled eggs dripping in ketchup.  Harry wrinkled his nose.  Ew.  “He didn’t threaten you or anything, did he?”

Harry shook his head, grateful that he wasn’t one of those people who got horrible hangovers after a night of drinking.  Ridiculously lucky, that.  “Ron, don’t be ridiculous.  We just had a disagreement, and we talked it over.  It was fine.”

It was better than fine, but Harry didn’t want to share the moment he had had with someone else.  His talk with Tom was private, and something Harry really cherished. 

“Don’t trust him,” Ron grumbled before shoving food in his mouth again.  Harry rolled his eyes.

“And I don’t understand why.  He’s capable and a good person.”

“He threw you in a cell one of the first times you met him!”

“And I apologized for that.”  Tom slid smoothly into the seat next to Harry’s and smirked at Ron’s astounded expression.  Draco, Blaise, and Zacharias also joined their table, with Draco shoved none-too-gently at Ron to get him to move over.  Ron scowled mutinously.  “Good morning, Lieutenant Commander Weasley, Lieutenant Granger.”

“Morning, Commander Riddle!” Hermione said brightly.  She then flushed a pleasant blue shade and smiled warmly at Blaise.  “Morning, Blaise.”

“Hey there, ‘Mione,” the psionic returned, smirking roguishly back at the linguist.  Both Draco and Ron exchanged a sick look, for once agreeing in the face of Blaise’s and Hermione’s sappiness.

“Hope you didn’t wake up with a hangover, Tom,” Harry teased.

Ron yelped.  “You went drinking with him?  And you didn’t invite me?!”

“It was a private conversation,” Harry laughed, feeling lighter than ever.  The fact that everyone Harry liked, both his coworkers and his best friends, were sitting at the same table with him was incredibly heartening.

Ron mumbled indistinctly into his plate and was quickly drawn into another argument with Draco within seconds.  They began to bicker loudly, with Zacharias acting as mediator.  Actually, no, Zacharias didn’t seem to give a shit about them, only absorbed in single-handedly destroying his breakfast with gusto and chasing it down with the horrible swill the replicator called coffee.

“Ready for another day of exploration?” Tom asked.

“If we could get any actual exploring done and not just searching blindly in uncharted territory, then yeah, I’d be eager, ecstatic even, for another day of exploration,” Harry griped good-naturedly.

Tom hummed in commiseration.  “Unfortunately, I’m afraid most of our days will be spent looking for new planets and not enacting feats of bravery and derring-do in jungles and rainforests.”

“If you want, though, we can stop by a trading center.  There’s a man-made trading center just a short detour away, if we need to stock up on anything,” Blaise interjected, managing to break away from staring soulfully into Hermione’s eyes to actually contribute useful information.  “Durmstrang, I think it’s called.  It started as a pit-stop for those lost on the edges of space, and it grew into a trading station for underground and black market materials.”

“Don’t think we’ll be welcome there,” Hermione commented.

“Probably not, but as long as we don’t interfere with whatever they’re doing and we remain discrete, I think we’ll get by,” Blaise replied.

“That’d be a good place to stop.  The engineering deck needs some replacement parts if we don’t want to have the same problems as last time.”  Another tray clunked down beside Zacharias, causing him to move aside a little to make room for Cedric’s large body and a beautiful female.  She had almond-shaped, dark brown eyes and stood on two pawed feet and legs that bent the opposite way Human legs did.  She held out a three fingered hand to Harry, who shook it.

“Ensign Chang, it’s good to see you outside of the labs,” Tom greeted.

“Good to see you too, Commander Riddle,” she replied with a sharp toothed smile that crinkled the skin around two horns protruding from her forehead.  She swung her head to Harry.  “It’s good to finally meet you, Captain.  My name is Cho Chang.  I work with the science division.”

“It’s good to meet you too,” Harry greeted politely.

“This table’s getting too crowded for this,” Draco grumbled but made no effort to leave, elbowing Ron in the ribs sharply.  Ron elbowed the Veela back as they all shuffled a bit.

“I’ve heard so much about you!” Cho began when she was finally settled, arranging her tail feathers so that they wouldn’t get crushed or stepped on.  “Cedric’s been talking about what a great engineer you are ever since that incident with the pirate ship.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably, unused to praise, especially aboard the _Marauder_.  Cedric thought he was a good engineer?  And Cho believed him?

“It was nothing,” Harry demurred bashfully.

Cedric waved his hands and snorted.  He rumbled in his low voice, “Are you kidding?  Repairing Nimbus-2000 warp cells isn’t exactly a common skill, and I thought I was the only one in on the engineering deck qualified to work with them.  And then what do I find out?  Turns out the Captain keeps up with the newest models of warp cells, and not only does he know how to fix them, he also knows how to recalibrate a damaged repulsor reactor.”  Cedric shook his head self-deprecatingly.  “I underestimated you, Harry.  Hey, you wanna give up your fancy Captain’s chair and come work down in the bowels of the ship with me?  Promise you’ll get good pay.”

“Please don’t steal my Captain from me, Lieutenant Commander,” Tom drawled, causing Harry to flush.  Steal _his_ Captain?  That made it sound so…possessive.

Harry felt oddly pleased.

Cho was having similar thoughts.  “He’s _our_ Captain, which means I get a fair share.”  She poked at her noodles and side-eyed Cedric suspiciously.  “And if I didn’t know better, Diggory, I’d think you’re trying to dump me to shack up with the Captain,” she joked, winking at Harry to indicate no hard feelings.  “Actually, maybe _I’ll_ dump _you_ for the Captain.  Smart, charismatic, and knows his way around machines?  Yes, please!”

“Hey now,” Cedric protested lightly, and they all laughed.

Harry couldn’t stop grinning.  Was…was this what his crew really thought of him?  It was hard to believe, given that before nobody seemed to respect him at all when he first took control of the _Marauder_ , and now they were warming up to him.  Harry was startled and pleasantly surprised as he looked over the overcrowded table.  There were elbows flying on Ron’s and Draco’s end, with Zacharias tolerantly acting as a buffer simply by being there, and Blaise and Hermione were sending moon eyes at each other.  For some reason, Tom, Cedric, and Cho seemed to _genuinely_ like Harry.

It was incredibly confusing, but also…really reassuring.  Nice.  Harry laughed freely at the bickering and enthusiastic conversation.  “I’m flattered, really.”

Now if only the rest of the crew liked him as much too.

There was a low ding overhead indicating the change from gamma shift to alpha, and Harry stood reluctantly, stretching his arms.  Even if the table had been cramped, and he couldn’t move a centimeter either way without bumping into someone, he wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else than here right then.

“Alright, let’s go,” Harry announced, and there was another flurry of movement as they made their way out of the mess hall for another shift.

* * *

Durmstrang was incredibly similar to Nurmengard, but at the same time they were nothing alike.  Where Nurmengard had been choking on its own pollution and overcrowded with rough-looking types looking to trade dubiously acquired items, Durmstrang was made up of islands of man-made structures just floating out in the middle of space, surrounded by inky blackness dotted with stars, held together by a field generator that emitted artificial gravity.  In appearance, they couldn’t be more different in that aspect, but the same shady aliens inhabiting every dark corner was rather familiar.

Lavender Brown shifted in her seat.  Her purple and green petals of hair brushed her shoulders as she peered out of the porthole of their little transport ship.  Sailing the _Marauder_ into a somewhat illegal trading station would have been too conspicuous and invited attention that they couldn’t afford at the moment, especially with Voldemort scouring the universe for any sign of them.

“This is actually really cool,” she said, eyes wide with wonder.

“It is, isn’t it?” Ron’s eyes were also wide, and Harry could practically see the hamster running in Ron’s head.  “It’s pretty amazing how Durmstrang’s managed to survive this long, especially since they’re a relatively well-known trading station.  They’ve managed to balance a population made up of official business and black market affairs.  Logic would dictate that they’d clash, or Durmstrang would get shut down by the Federation, but here they are, thriving and still carrying on like nothing’s wrong.”

Lavender rolled her eyes.  “I was talking more about how amazing the view is, but yeah, I guess that’s pretty cool too.”

Ron only grinned sheepishly and kissed her on the cheek.  “Sorry, love.  Didn’t mean to blabber your ear off.”

The green-skinned woman grinned, and her purple veins pulsed in delight.  “I like it when you blabber, honey.  It’s cute.”

Harry nearly threw up in his mouth.  He loved Ron, really, they’d been best friends and roommates, but Harry was starting to regret sharing a transport ship with them.

“We’re almost there,” he said in an attempt to break the private bubble the two had found themselves in.  “Please don’t start kissing until I’m out of the ship.”

Ron snorted but obligingly unstuck himself from his girlfriend.

They docked at a small island.  Harry technically didn’t have business on Durmstrang, not like Ron and Lavender did.  Ron had been looking to take her on a date far away from where they’d be living for the next five years.  Harry was sure that, somewhere else on this amalgam collection of floating metal, Cedric was combing through shops for better equipment, and the science department was undoubtedly looking for more knowledge to flesh out their science database.

They landed gently, and Ron helped Lavender out of the ship like the true gentleman he was.  Lavender looked appropriately charmed, and in the artificial light of Durmstrang, her decorative hair piece flickered like a flame.  They were all out of their unflattering uniforms and into proper, more comfortable clothes.

“I’ll see you guys later.  Remember, we’re leaving in one cycle!” he called out and was ignored when Lavender giggled and leaned into Ron’s arms.  He decided to make himself scarce and set out in the opposite direction of where the couple was heading.

What Ron had pointed out _was_ fascinating.  Here, it was everyone for him or herself.  There were bars full to the brim with pirates and scavengers, while right across the street a seemingly upstanding alien was negotiating prices for ship repairs.  Not only that, but the sheer amount of technology needed for the artificial gravity field generator to keep running seamlessly, to keep the trading port running, was baffling.  Somewhere around here, there were multiple someones who knew what they were doing to keep this place running well.

There really wasn’t anything for him to do here, though.  While Nurmengard had various little stands selling miscellaneous trinkets, here each shop served the purpose of either getting someone drunk or fixing a ship.

So, Harry decided that he’d spend his off hours getting absolutely, smashingly trashed.

The bar was quieter compared to the others.  No flashing strobe lights, no overly loud pounding bass, just a bit of classy, synthetic music floating through the air.  The lights were dimmed, giving the whole place a peaceful, private atmosphere.  Harry fell a little bit in love with it.

“How may I help you?” the bartender asked with a welcoming smile.  Harry took a seat.

“Just a Harvest Moon,” he ordered.  A short, simple drink practically universal to all bars.  He wasn’t feeling quite adventurous enough to try whatever eccentric drinks Durmstrang undoubtedly had created, at least, not yet.

The bartender smirked, like he knew exactly what Harry was thinking, and slunk away.  Harry leaned one arm on the bar and propped up his face on a hand, watching the alien.

The moment the bartender handed over a rich, amber drink smelling of cinnamon and apples, someone else slid into the seat beside him.  “Get me a Sex on the Moon.  And put his drink on my tab.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at the stranger.  He was tall, lanky, with dark brown skin and muscular, toned arms.  The alien’s four eyes blinked at Harry, and when he smirked, it was devastatingly handsome, with a hint of danger.

“And what’s the name of the gentleman who just bought me a drink?” Harry asked, charmed despite himself.  God, he hadn’t had someone try to hit on him in _ages_.  It was nice to know that he still had some game.

The alien gave a low, velvet chuckle and leaned in towards the Human as the bartender handed another drink, this one a shimmering dark blue, to the newcomer.  “Bartemius Crouch, but you can call me Barty,” he purred.

“Well, Barty, I appreciate it.”  Harry raised his glass and clinked it with Barty’s before taking a sip.  The alcohol burned and bubbled on its way down, and Harry sighed at the taste.  It reminded him of apple pie and the smell of fall on Terra, full of wood smoke and warm cinnamon.

“So what brings you here?” Barty asked, all suave and smooth and full of confidence.

“Just a pit stop,” Harry replied.  At least he could get some kind of conversation, and possibly a good lay, before he headed back on the ship.  Despite what all of what his friends seemed to think, Harry really wasn’t looking to start a romantic relationship with anyone he worked with.  If there was a fallout, and there inevitably always was a fallout, he didn’t want to ruin any working relationship he had.  Plus, nobody seemed interested in him anyways.  Harry’s mind flashed to dark red and black eyes, a gentle smile, black hair and pale skin, but he flicked the image away carelessly.  “Need to restock on some things.  We’re headed out tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow, hm?” Barty hummed, taking another sip of his drink.  He licked his lips, leaving them glistening under the low light.  “Then I can have you tonight all for myself?”

Harry laughed.  “Really?  Are you deliberately going for sleazy, or do you think I’m just easy?”  Harry smirked jauntily, the kind of smirk that had won him dozens of hearts back at Hogwarts, and leaned back to create some distance between them.  “You’ll have to try harder than that to spend the rest of the night with me.”

Barty shrugged.  “It was worth a try, at least.  Now I know that you won’t be swayed with just a drink and some over the top lines from any handsome guy,” he answered easily.

“You’re assuming quite a lot.  Handsome?  I’d say moderately attractive.”

“Moderately?  _Moderately_? I’ll have you know this face has launched a thousand ships and started a war.”

Harry whistled.  “You know your Terran literature.  I’m impressed.”

Barty preened lightly.  The alien was clearly arrogant, confident in himself, somewhat cocky, but Harry could give him that.  If an alien millions of lightyears away from Terra could reference ancient Greek mythology, he deserved some praise.

“I try.  I’ve always been interested in literature,” the alien demurred.

“So what are you doing here?” Harry asked, draining his drink and waving at the bartender for another for both himself and Barty.  “I’ve got this round.  Anything in particular you want?”

Barty grinned mischievously, a sly little thing that was really attractive.  Actually, almost everything Barty did was attractive.  It wasn’t quite fair.

“You ever had an Angry Reactor?  Those things pack a punch.”

And so, the two of them worked their way through a rather impressive array of drinks.  Barty, it seemed, was an expert on culture and linguistics on a small science ship, out to explore all the different races and species the universe had to offer.  He had a passion for literature and mythology and absorbed all of Harry’s stories about Terra like a sponge.  With his knowledge of culture, though, came an astounding amount of knowledge of alcoholic drinks, and together, they taught the bartender at least six new recipes.

It was fun, more fun than Harry had had in a while.  Sure, hanging out with his friends was fun in the way that hanging out in a dorm room playing video games was fun, but Barty was full of energy and enthusiasm and charm.  Harry could say, with mild confidence, that he was just a little bit in lust with the alien by the end of the night.

“So, have I managed to convince you to spend the rest of the night with me?” Barty asked as they finally paid their tabs and stumbled like drunken fools out into the street.  Barty had two of his four arms wrapped securely around Harry’s waist.

“It’s a hard decision.  My living quarters on the ship sounds really nice right now,” Harry slurred, tucking his face into Barty’s neck and giving a loud laugh.  Mm, _and_ he smelled good.

Barty shifted and put his arms around Harry’s shoulders.  “Actually,” he said, in a much less drunken voice before, all friendliness replaced with a hardness that rang klaxons in Harry’s head, “I think I’d prefer my place.”

There was a needle prick in his neck, and Harry yanked himself back, eyes wide with betrayal at Barty’s blurry, stone-faced visage, before darkness swirled and he collapsed.

* * *

The first thing Harry thought, when he woke up, was, _Thank god I don’t get hangovers_.

The second was, _I’m going to fucking gut that bastard and hang him up by his entrails_.  Granted, Harry didn’t even know if Barty had entrails to be hung up with, but it was the thought that counted.

He opened his eyes and peered around him.  Wherever he was, it look like some kind of store room, with wooden crates packed along the sides.  He was leaning against one such crate, hands tied behind his back and legs bound with rope (good, that meant that Barty didn’t have anything more high-tech to tie him up with, and if he didn’t have proper energy handcuffs, he probably didn’t have much more sophisticated security measures in place).  He squinted to get his eyes used to the low lighting and cursed.

Of course the first handsome guy to hit on him at a bar would be a kidnapper.  Really, what the hell was his luck?

Harry immediately began to wriggle his wrists to test his restraints, but they were tight and already chafing at his skin.  Where Barty had lacked in technology, he clearly made up in knowledge, which was disappointing.  Barty had been _smart_ and attractive, it was such a pity that he was also a bastard who knocked out his dates for whatever reason and tied them up, which hey, the rope part was kind of kinky, but when paired with the _drugged_ part was incredibly creepy and sleazy and straight up fucking _wrong_.

Harry wracked his brain for solutions to get out of here.  He didn’t have anything to cut through the ropes with, and he cursed himself for not hiding a knife in some discrete location.  Constant vigilance, Moody used to always say. 

Right, well, there could probably be something in the crates for him to use.  He felt behind his back, palm flat against some kind of hard, sturdy wood that he didn’t recognize on sight or feel.  Fingers skimmed over grooves, yanking at some loose boards to see if they would break, but they held strong.  So getting into the crates probably wasn’t going to be possible.  Maybe…yes, there!

Harry again thanked whatever gods there were and felt around a smooth metal circle.  Most probably a nail.  He began using his short, blunt fingernails to try to pry the nail out (hah, using a nail to get out a nail, god Harry’s mind needed to focus and stop being dumb), but suddenly the door to the storeroom whooshed open, and there, silhouetted against the bright light, was Barty, standing tall, four arms clasped behind his back.

“I see you’ve woken up,” Barty said, all charm gone.  In its place was a sort of deranged madness hidden skillfully a genteel manner.  Harry was suddenly incredibly glad that he never slept with the alien.

“And I see you’ve gone and kidnapped me,” Harry replied.  He felt his fingernail chip, but the slight sting of pain was rewarded with the metal nail slipping out slowly, grudgingly.  “Is there a reason?  Human trafficking?  Ransom?  I promise that if you let me go now, you won’t be serving the rest of your life on a prison planet.”

Barty gave a thoughtful noise.  “Mmm, I think not.  You see, there’s someone very interested in you, and the price on your head is incredibly high.  I recognized you the moment you stepped in that bar.  You should try for a disguise next time.”

This alarmed Harry.  There was someone out there looking for him, enough to put a _bounty_ on his head and spread his picture?  Who…?

“Ah.”  Harry winced as the nail finally slipped free of the crate and clattered to the ground noisily.  He coughed over the noise, hoping Barty hadn’t noticed.  “Voldemort?”

“Do not say his name so casually, trash,” Barty hissed, a complete one eighty from his previous manner.  He stalked forward, tall and imposing.  “He has high hopes and dreams, and _you_ interfered and ruined his plans.  I’ll deliver you to him for him to use as he pleases, and then he’ll deliver salvation to this universe.”

Right, a handsome lunatic.  Not that the alien was that handsome anymore, considering that he was maniacally devoted to a mass murdering psychopath.  Harry maintained his composure.  Kidnapping really wasn’t _that_ bad of a situation, all things considered.  At least his crew was safe, and if worst came to worst, Tom would be there to take over as Captain.

“How’d you even find me?” Really, if another transmission or something had gotten intercepted from the _Marauder_ again, he’d have to order a full systems and personnel check.  Once was chance, and twice was a coincidence, and he wasn’t going to chance a third time to make a pattern.

“Greyback,” Barty grunted.  He bared his teeth in a mock smile.  “Lord Voldemort has people all over the universe, Potter.  And you won’t be able to stop us when we rise to power.”

Oh, good.  At least there probably wasn’t a traitor on the _Marauder_ somewhere.

“Is that what he’s doing?” he asked, stalling for time.  As long as Barty was here, he probably wasn’t contacting Voldemort about his new hostage.  He began sawing at his ropes with the nail, a slow process.  He had to hold it at an awkward angle, and the nail wasn’t really quite sharp enough, but he only needed the rope loosened a little.

“He’ll wipe the Federation out of existence,” the alien continued, a sort of blind devotion in his voice.  “And then we’ll rebuild the universe in our image.”

Harry snorted.  “You mean a universe where Voldemort will rule over everyone with a cruel and iron fist.”

Barty sneered back.  “We will set the universe to rights.”

“You’ll be making a dictatorship, with a cruel, heartless Dershite in charge,” Harry replied.  He felt his ropes loosen, _finally_ , and wiggled his wrists a little, although he kept his arms behind his back to preserve the illusion of being bound securely.

“A more competent leader than the Federation.”  Barty started pacing, full of nervous energy.  “The Federation abandoned Dershia in its time of need.  It is only fair that Lord Voldemort destroy it in revenge.”

Harry shook his head.  “You’ll be destroying millions of livelihoods and throwing the universe into chaos.”

Barty narrowed his four eyes.  “I see you cannot be reasoned with.  Very well.  You will find your justice at Lord Voldemort’s hands.”

The door clanged shut behind Barty as the alien walked out dramatically, and Harry immediately pulled the ropes binding his wrists apart and began working through the ones on his legs.  When he also managed to get them to loosen as well, Harry stood and stretched.  Other than an ache in his neck where Barty had drugged him, he didn’t seem injured in any other area, just a bit bruised from rough handling.  He scurried over to the door and pressed his ear against it.

 _“…crazy, he’s the Captain of the_ Marauder _.  We’re not going to get out of whatever trouble Crouch’s gonna bring on us.”_

_“Yeah, well, it’s too late to turn back now.”_

Harry called through the door, “Hey, bastards, can I get some water in here?”

There was a clang on the door.  _“Shut up!  Prisoners don’t get water.”_

“I’m going to start singing obnoxious songs if you don’t get me water!” Harry yelled back.  This was going to either end with the two soldiers outside ignoring him while suffering through bad renditions of Disney, or this was going to end with Harry getting out of here.  Harry wasn’t going to die here.  He had a crew to get back to.

And yeah, if he got to be obnoxious and one of the most difficult hostages ever, well, nobody could ever prove that Harry, sometimes, could be a little shit.

_“I swear to god if I hear one peep out of you…!”_

“IT’S A SMALL WORLD AFTER ALL, IT’S A SMALL WORLD AFTER ALL, IT’S A SMALL WORLD AFTER ALL, IT’S A SMALL, SMALL WOR-”

The door opened with a murderous looking alien on the other side.  Harry leapt, slamming his shoulder into the soldier and driving him into the opposite wall.  The alien groaned and fell motionless, dropping like a stone.  Harry immediately ducked to the floor to avoid the punch swung at his head from the other alien.  He kicked out, sweeping his legs to disrupt the soldier’s balance, and with a viciously satisfying punch, knocked the other alien out too.

He dusted his hands off casually.  Alright, so he might not have had any game when it came to sexual partners (since Barty had an ulterior motive to approaching him, that _bastard_ , Harry had actually been flattered!), but he was definitely still good at hand to hand combat.

“Alright, let’s get out of here,” he muttered to himself, rooting through their equipment and managing to find a small phaser and a dagger.  Not the best equipment, but it would have to do.

And then the alarms started blaring, lights flashing red and blaring klaxons for everyone to hear.  Harry cursed his luck and ran down the hallway, taking random turns that would hopefully get him out of the ship.

Surprisingly, though, he didn’t encounter that many enemies for the first five minutes of his exploration.  He could hear distant shouts and what sounded like phaser fire from another portion of the ship, so Harry made his way in the direction of the commotion.

And then he came upon a big hulking alien, with skin that looked rough as rock and just as hard, and bulging muscles.  He was…really, really big.  Gargantuan.  Beside him, there was a much smaller woman, built like a dancer, twirling knives around her fingers and a bloody grin slashed across her face.  She had no eyes, but Harry really doubted that impeded her from being able to kill him, and her razor sharp tail swept behind her lazily.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” the larger alien said, blinking slowly.  He cracked his knuckles.  “Think I’m going to have to beat you up.”

Harry really, really didn’t think this was necessary, and promptly told the rock man so.  “Look, I’m sure we can work something out.”

“Oh look, brother, the Human thinks he can talk his way out of this,” the female cooed, slinking forward. She balanced on her bare toes, tail whipping back and forth like a predator stalking her prey, poised to stab.  Some aliens had it good, Harry mused.  Natural weapons built into their bodies and hide thicker than rock.  Totally unfair.

The rock alien (Harry was naming him The Rock) didn’t listen to Harry (which, _rude_ ) and immediately charged Harry.  Harry weaved around him easily.  The Rock was large, slow, and broadcasted his moves, but he hit like a charging rhino, as indicated by the metal wall that crumpled under his fist like tissue paper.

Immediately, the female (and _she_ was being nicknamed Catwoman) was there to take The Rock’s place, knife slicing through the air.  The metal whistled past Harry’s ear, and he immediately hopped backwards to gain some distance.  Against either one of them, he could probably manage, but the both of them were clearly familiar with each other, fighting in a team and covering for the other in the old dance and song of a tag team fight. 

She immediately twirled gracefully, a follow-up attack with her tail nearly taking Harry’s throat out.  He cursed, throwing himself away from her.  Her reach was deceptively long when her tail came into play as well.

This probably wouldn’t end well.

“You should run back to your cell, little boy,” Catwoman said.  “Maybe Crouch won’t find you as a smear on the wall then.”

“Maybe you could just let me through?” Harry asked hopefully.  He pulled out his own confiscated dagger in one hand and readied his phaser in the other.  If he could just incapacitate the female, he could probably slip by the male and make a run for it.

“He’s funny!  I like him, but I’ll like him even more once I’m bathing in his blood!” she shrieked and, turning her head around like a snake tracking a mouse, pounced.  Metal rang against metal when Harry met her knife with his own dagger, deflecting the blow and using her own momentum to throw her behind him.  The Rock took her place, a giant fist almost crushing Harry into the floor.  As it was, the blow breezed past his head with a gust of wind.

Harry stabbed his dagger into The Rock’s arm, not at all surprised when the metal tip only skidded off the rock hard skin.  He retreated and shot his phaser at The Rock’s face.  The giant alien stumbled and howled in pain.

Harry was back in motion almost immediately, ducking to avoid a thrown knife that skimmed past his cheek, accompanied by a sting.  He felt warm blood leaking from the wound.  Jump, shoot, dodge.  With The Rock momentarily distracted, he could focus on Catwoman.

She was fast and flexible, hitting quick as a viper, but not quite as powerfully as her brother.  They were in a dance of fast blades, the phaser set aside for close combat.  Although she couldn’t see, she could clearly sense where he was coming from and predict where he would be.  Her claws made bloody lacerations across his arms, but he returned the favor in full by throwing her into the wall.  There was a loud and noticeable _crack_ , and the Catwoman screamed in anger.  She slammed against metal, grip relaxing in surprise, and he lunged, kicking her wrist so that she dropped the knife.

He forgot about her tail, a silly but deadly oversight.

Catwoman lashed out, tail whipping through the air and slicing a large gash in his back.  She bared her teeth viciously when he grunted in pain and staggered backwards.  The female didn’t give him a chance to recover, picking up her dropped knife and stabbing it, hilt deep, right into his abdomen.  She whirled around and planted her foot into his chest, kicking him across the hallway.  There was a burst of pain, a metal taste on his tongue.  Harry’s breath hissed out, a scream stuck between his teeth, and blindly reached for her calf as she leapt at him, one leg outstretched to crush his skull.

Harry grabbed her leg and threw her off balance, jerking forward despite the knife _still stuck in his side_ , christ, and fell with her to the ground.  He grappled with the alien, using his heavier weight to pin her down.  Her tail lashed angrily, but he’d learned his lesson.  He leaned his weight on the end, and there was another crunching sound, like little delicate vertebrae breaking beneath his heel.  An elbow was slammed into her face, and he took advantage of her momentary shock to plunge his dagger into her throat.

He really, really hoped she needed her throat to live.  There were aliens out there who could function without a head.  He prayed that she wasn’t one of them.

Harry only had a second of relief at her still form before something giant slammed into his side, throwing him off of Catwoman like a rag doll.  He went tumbling across the ground, flank jarred by the knife.  Blood dripped from his nose, and he spat out any that got into his mouth, a mix of saliva and crimson.

He wheezed pitifully.  Pain, _so much pain_ , but he couldn’t stop, not now.  He couldn’t just give up yet.  Something traitorous, in the little dark corner of his mind, whispered, _But wouldn’t they be better off without you?_

Hermione, blue tears tracking down her face.  Ron, anger and suspicion in Harry’s defense.  Praise, friendship, company from the alpha shift crew.  A silent moment shared between two aliens, two glasses of liquor and stories told. 

No.  Not yet.

“Alecto.  Alecto!” The Rock gibbered, poking at her with a finger as if it would wake her up.  She remained slumped on the floor, dagger stuck in her throat.  The Rock stumbled to his feet and squinted his tiny little eyes at Harry and _roared_.  “I’LL KILL YOU.”

Harry struggled to his feet, swaying from the punch.  Each breath rattled something in his lungs, and his ribs creaked in protest with every movement.  The hallway swayed before his eyes like he was stuck in a fun mirror house, just without the fun and the mirrors, which really _sucked_.

The Rock took a step towards Harry.  The Human closed his eyes, forced himself to _focus, Harry, or you’ll die_ , and rolled his shoulders.  The Rock was slow.  Harry would just have to be fast.

Compared to Catwoman, getting past The Rock was easy, if not incredibly painful.  Harry could see where each blow was coming from, where The Rock was going to land his blows next.  Harry leapt and vaulted over The Rock when the giant alien rushed him, hands outstretched to crush Harry like a bug.  The knife cut further into his side, and blood started flowing more freely from his back, where Catwoman – Alecto – had sliced him before. 

He planted one hand on The Rock’s shoulder, yanked the knife out with the other, and stabbed it right through The Rock’s eye.  Thankfully, the eye seemed like the only soft part of the alien, and The Rock howled in pain and bent over, head clutched in giant hands.

Harry ran.

The wails of the injured alien grew softer and softer in the distance as Harry raced along the hallways.  He could hear sounds of fighting in somewhere in front of him, and he followed the noise.  Fighting meant that there was conflict, which meant that someone was trying to hurt the enemy.  Harry _really_ hoped that someone from the _Marauder_ had come to rescue him, because he really wasn’t looking forward to getting out of here by himself.

He came upon a door, beyond which were sounds of phaser fire and snarls.  Harry cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders to get the knots out.  His ribs creaked, and fire was racing along his side, and he was pretty sure there was a concussion somewhere among the rest of his injuries, but he really couldn’t afford to let them stop him.  Not yet.

He was about to kick open the door in an attempt to surprise any guards on the other side and knock them out before they had a chance to attack him, but the door slammed open on its own before he had a chance to even touch it.  Harry was left staring bemusedly at Tom Riddle, who was disheveled and armed to the teeth.  Harry would have laughed in sheer relief if Tom hadn’t looked so murderous.

“Good to see you, Commander,” Harry wheezed, and Tom zeroed in on Harry.

“Harry,” Tom breathed in relief, dropping the poor, unconscious alien he had gripped in one hand.  “Who did this to you?”  There was a homicidal light in the alien’s eyes, and Harry suddenly became very concerned for the pirate crew.  Not that they didn’t deserve it.

“Some guy named Bartemius Crouch,” Harry replied, stumbling.  The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving only exhaustion and fatigue in its wake.  Tom reached out and stabilized him, an angry rumble in his throat when his hand found the stab wound on his back.  “Said he was going to deliver me to Voldemort.”

“I’ll kill him.”  The Commander looked like he was going to go do just that, but Harry managed to stop him with a tight grip on his clothed forearm.

“Please don’t kill them all,” Harry said, half-jokingly, half-not.  “We just need to get out of here.”

“They hurt you,” Tom protested, and wasn’t that sweet.  Harry wasn’t sure if he was just hallucinating the frankly touching concern in Tom’s tone because of his concussion, or if the blood loss was just making him dizzily imagine things, but Tom was genuinely beginning to look panicked as Harry slanted to one side.

“Just get us out of here,” Harry repeated.  Tom finally relented, one arm wrapped tight across Harry’s waist (ribs, side, back, _ow_ ), the other free to pummel anyone who wandered too close.  The next pirate they came across, Tom grabbed by the head and smashed into a wall.  Harry made a note to himself to never piss off his Commander.

“How’d you find me?” Harry gasped as he lifted his phaser to shoot another approaching alien.  Hey, he wasn’t dead weight after all!

“The bartender,” Tom grunted.  “When you didn’t check in with Weasley and Brown for the ride back, they became worried and commed me.  We found the bar you were drinking at, and he mentioned a handsome stranger offering to take you home.”

Tom paused in his story to unceremoniously kick another pirate across the hallway they were stumbling down.  Harry may or may not have swooned in the Commander’s arms.

The Dershite pursed his lips angrily before admitting, “I knew Crouch before I left Voldemort’s army, and I recognized his ship the moment I laid eyes on it.  It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together.”

“And you single handedly waged war against the whole pirate ship?” Harry asked, dizziness making the hallways spin.  He tripped and moaned when Tom’s arms tightened around his torso to a painful degree.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Tom murmured before snarling something under his breath.  Tom’s words began slurring together, a loud buzzing in Harry’s ears that made it hard to keep track of things.  Grey was starting to encroach on his vision.

“Shit.  _Shit_.  Harry, stay with me,” a voice snarled, laced with fear. 

The next couple of moments blurred together.  He was vaguely aware of being lifted into strong arms and carried like a princess, most probably by Tom.  Harry leaned his head against a warm surface, listening to three hearts beat in tandem.  _Thu-thu-thump, thu-thu-thump._

“ _…going to kill you…”_

_“…betrayed Lord Voldemort?  Are you saving the scum that…”_

_“…entrusted this mission to_ me _, and I’ll_ kill _you for…”_

_“…delighted to hear that his own…turned against…punish you…”_

Words and conversations drifted in and out of Harry’s consciousness, and the next thing he was fully aware of, there was the intense heat of an explosion and light.  Harry pried his eyes open to look up at Tom.  Red bruises were starting to litter his face, and one eye was beginning to swell shut.  Harry was inordinately put out that the Dershite had survived the whole ordeal with only small scratches, and here Harry was, bleeding out and needing to be rescued like some damsel in distress.

Rescued by someone else.  Only took down two pirates before he couldn’t function anymore.  _Kidnapped_ in the first place.  God, Harry was such a useless piece of shit.

“Harry?” Tom asked gently.  “Stay with me.  We’ll get you medical attention right away.”

“Wha’ ‘appened?” Harry mumbled, trying to croak through his dry throat.

“Blew up that bastard and his ship,” Tom snarled fiercely, grinning with vicious satisfaction.  “He won’t be bothering anyone else anymore.”

Harry closed his eyes, and to his mortification and horror, tears began leaking down his face without his permission.  He didn’t _deserve_ to be saved.  What kind of Captain couldn’t take care of himself?  How could a crew trust him to take responsibility for them if he was such a wreck?  He got caught, and all for what.  Some sex?  Company for one night?

These thoughts floated around his mind as he drifted in and out of consciousness.  He vaguely realized that sometime during his thoughts, he’d been carried to the transporter ship.

“Should’ve left me,” Harry mumbled during one of his more lucid moments.  “Would’ve been better.”

A pained noise vibrated in the chest under his cheek, and Tom leaned down and whispered fiercely, “No.  No, I _shouldn’t have_.  You are important, and many people care about you.  How can you think something like that?”  Something in Tom’s voice broke.  “You’re important to _me._ ”

Harry choked out a wet laugh before coughing.  He nearly passed out as his ribs screamed at him again from the action, and he tried to take small, shallow breathes.  “That’s a nice dream,” Harry said faintly.

He began fading.

“Harry, no, open your eyes.  Harry.  _Harry_.  Don’t you even _dare…_ ”

Harry drifted away to the sound of Tom saying his name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. Kind of. Not really.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My brain is fried. I don't think I know how to think anymore. Who the fuck thought 7 hours of testing was a good idea. Sadists, that's who. Assholes.
> 
> Anyways, please enjoy!

_Beep.  Beep.  Beep._

Oh god, not that blasted beeping again.

The insistent noise was the first thing that Harry registered.  Then he was abruptly made aware of the, by now, depressingly familiar smell of sterile equipment and crisp cleanliness.  He cracked open his eyes, which were crusted with eye boogers, _ew gross_.  It felt like every part of his body was in pain.  It felt like his _eyelashes_ were in pain, and Harry wasn’t even sure that was possible.  His bruises probably had bruises.

He tried to turn his head with some mild success.  There, the damned monitor with his heart rate and blood pressure.  And there, the call button for Draco.  And there…

Harry blinked in surprise.

There, Tom was asleep, head pillowed in his arms and hunched uncomfortably over Harry’s bed.  He was snoring softly into the crook of his elbow, and Harry was pretty sure the Dershite was going to wake up with a crick in his neck.

“Tom,” Harry tried to say, but all that came out was a pathetic little whistling sound.  Thankfully, Tom’s eyes snapped open, red and black immediately sweeping over Harry before landing on his face.  Something like relief flooded through Tom, and he sat up and leaned over.

“You’re awake,” Tom said, softly, and Harry grimaced.

“I think I’d prefer being unconscious if this is what awake should feel like,” Harry joked, voice cracked and hoarse.  Tom frowned, and Harry immediately felt bad for making him upset.  “Hey, I’m glad I’m awake too.”

Tom relaxed, shoulders slumping.  “You have a horrible habit of injuring yourself, Captain.  We’re not even six months in, and already I think you’ve been in here at least three or four times for multiple life-threatening injuries.  That’s a horrible rate.”

“Wasn’t my fault this time,” Harry defended himself weakly.  He tried to lift himself up, but his ribs and side protested vehemently, and his arm folded beneath his weight.  Tom, the helpful Commander that he was, lifted the bed so that Harry wasn’t staring at the ceiling for this conversation.

“Nonetheless, I think at this rate we should just keep you in a padded room for your own safety.”  Tom’s lips twitched, but Harry couldn’t tell if it was supposed to be a smile or a frown.  “You worried many people, Harry.”

The self-loathing came rushing back like a tsunami, pounding at Harry with relentless energy.

“Sorry.  I did it again,” Harry whispered, staring at the ceiling as shame threatened to suffocate him.  He didn’t remember much about anything after fainting in Tom’s arms, and he was pretty sure he was delusional most of the time, but he did remember that feeling of intense regret.  He’d put Tom in danger _again,_ needed to be rescued by his crewmates and mothered like some kind of errant child because he couldn’t recognize danger on his own.  “Put my crew and this ship at risk again.”  He swallowed, his throat sticking painfully.  He was becoming a _liability_.  “Should resign as Captain, would be better for everyo-”

“I am going to stop you right there,” someone announced.  Harry blinked when Draco pushed aside the curtains around his bed and briskly tapped his holopad against a palm, Luna drifting beside him.  The Veela’s eyes were narrowed behind his glasses.  “You think that if you just disappeared from our lives, you’d worry us less?”

It seemed like a logical conclusion, actually.  Harry glared at his bedsheets, fingers slowly picking at a stray thread to give them something to do.  If he wasn’t a Captain, he wouldn’t be important to anyone.  Kidnapping someone nobody cared about would keep everyone safe.

There was a frustrated noise.  “Potter, I swear to whatever god your species worship, one day I’m going to throw you right out of a porthole, just so I don’t have to do this anymore.  But that won’t happen, and you know why?”  Draco didn’t even wait for an answer.  Good.  Harry didn’t have one.  “Because you’re a halfway competent Captain, and because you’re not a horrible friend, and lord forbid for some forsaken reason I actually _like_ you.  So if you think you just upped and kicked the bucket or left and we’d all be able to go on with our lives like nothing happened, you’re dead wrong.”

Harry really didn’t feel like talking about this now.  “I’m surprised, Draco,” he said, voice cracking halfway through the sentence, trying to joke.  “Didn’t think you’d miss me that much if I left.”

“And why would you assume I didn’t?” he asked quietly, like he’d been waiting to approach the subject for ages and hadn’t found a chance to.  Harry actually found that surprising, since Draco had no objections to speaking his mind, and often did so in a very blunt and occasionally hurtful manner.

Harry shrugged, trying to act like he wasn’t baring his greatest fear in the world to three of the people he trusted the most.  “Not many people are fond of me on this ship.”

“You think…” For once in his life, Draco seemed to be at a loss for words.  “You don’t think many people like you?”  _Are you_ crazy _?_ went unsaid.

“Well,” Harry muttered, and he really needed to stop this nasty habit of entrusting his darkest insecurities to Draco.  Just because Draco had several degrees in xenobiology and medicine didn’t mean he had a degree in psychology, no matter how good he was at digging up (and consequently advising on) Harry’s innermost thoughts.  “Since I kind of just flounced onto this ship and was gifted Captaincy, I don’t think many people do respect me for what I’m doing.”

Draco looked stunned at this piece of information.  He turned is flabbergasted look at Luna, who only sighed.  He then turned his gaze on Tom, who _also_ sighed in a long-suffering manner, as if they couldn’t believe Harry really was this dense.

“You’re an absolute imbecile 100% of the time, Potter.”  Draco tilted his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose.  “Don’t be so arrogant as to assume you know somebody else’s feelings.  You aren’t given the privilege to decide what others feel about you.  Have you asked anyone lately what they think about you?”

“I don’t need to.”

Draco spoke over Harry’s petulant retort.  “Really, you’re such a _child_.  You’ve earned the respect of this crew a thousand times over.  I know, for a fact, that Blaise would be infatuated with you if he weren’t mooning after Granger, and many of my patients have seen you in a favorable light since you’ve saved their lives at least a dozen times.”  Draco hesitated before saying, like he was squeezing blood from a rock, “I respect you.”

“Draco’s right, Harry,” Luna said, gently.  “Many more people on this ship love you for who you are and what you’ve done than you think.  Please don’t disrespect them by disregarding their feelings.”

Harry only fiddled with his hands.  He vaguely wondered since when Draco, of all people, became his pep talk go-to Veela.

Harry looked up tentatively at the doctor, who was displaying uncharacteristic anger.  The Veela was red-cheeked, so strange compared to his usual pale complexion, and his glittering grey eyes were narrowed.

Draco muttered under his breath about “dense idiots with no self-preservation instincts” and “why do I put up with this” and scribbled onto his holopad.

And wasn’t that reassuring?  That even Draco, who’d hated him at Hogwarts, whom Harry had gotten off on the wrong foot with, who’d practically flaunted his new position aboard the _Marauder_ right after they’d graduated in front of Harry, cared about him.  Harry wondered when that had happened.

Harry picked at a stray thread, overwhelmed.

“You need to work on your bedside manner,” Harry finally said, after a tense silence.

Draco lifted one brow.  “And you need to work on not getting injured.  Kidnapping, _really_.  If I see you in the next five years, it’ll be too soon.” 

Harry laughed and immediately stopped when sharp pain shot through his ribs.  He felt along his side and found a patch of gauze over his stab wound.

“It was too deep to simply regenerate skin over it,” Draco said, finally finished with whatever he’d been doing on his holopad.  “Head Nurse Lovegood, do you See any complications?”

Luna wafted around Harry and replied, “No.  He’s stable and will improve with time.”  Suddenly, she swooped, and Harry felt something warm, like an intangible blanket, cover him.  “You worried all of us, Harry.  I’m so glad you’re safe.”

Harry’s hands hovered with indecision before he hugged her back, as much as someone could hug an invisible, somewhat intangible alien.  “I’m glad to be back too,” he admitted, softly.  He turned his attention on Draco and Tom.  “Thank you.  For everything.”

Draco seemed to wrestle with several emotions ranging from derision, pride, and condescension before settling on smug.  “It’s a good thing you have the best doctor in the Federation.”

“I think all the credit goes to the Head Nurse, actually,” Harry said, glad the heartfelt moment was over.  Emotions, _ew_.  Draco and Tom seemed just as relieved that they’d addressed…whatever it was they’d just talked about.

Tom smirked.  “Do I get any thanks for rescuing you?”

Harry shook his head exasperatedly.  Tom, what a diva queen.  Nonetheless, Harry smiled and looked up at him.  “Yeah,” he replied, softly.  “Thank you, Tom.”

The Dershite faltered, blinking like he’d just been hit with a phaser set to stun.  Draco snorted, and Luna giggled.  Tom quickly regained his composure and glared at both of the medical professionals with a petulant scowl on his lips.

“Right, so how soon can I be back on duty?” Harry asked, trying to swing his legs over the bed with not a small amount of effort.  “I need to make sure the command deck is still standing in my absence.”

“You will do _nothing of the sort_ ,” Tom interjected.  “Bed rest.”

“But-”

“ _Bed rest_.  The crew will live without you while you get much needed sleep,” Tom said firmly.

Harry rolled his eyes.  “I can’t sleep _all day_ , Tom.  Besides, despite what one may think, being a Captain really doesn’t require much more than barking commands and sitting in the big important chair.”

“And yet, here you are,” Draco commented dryly.

“Come _on_ , I can’t just sit in bed all day twiddling my thumbs.  It’s just some, what, broken ribs and a one or two stab wounds?  I’ll heal.”  Harry turned his most pitiful face at Tom.  “Tom, you’d let me on the bridge, wouldn’t you?”

Tom crumbled like a cookie when faced with the full force of the puppy look.

“I suppose some light work wouldn’t hurt,” Tom muttered, eyes averted.  Draco snorted.

“Fool.  Just one or two stab wounds indeed,” he muttered before waving his hand as if to ward off their idiocy.  “Right, well, you’re free to leave.  You know what I’d tell you to do, and I know you’ll just ignore me, so I’ll trust your very dubious judgement to keep yourself safe until the next time you end up in here.”

Harry clumsily stood, Tom a ready presence at his side to support him in case he stumbled.  Standing was painful, yeah, but much better than lying in bed wasting away.  Harry would deal with a lot of pain to avoid bed rest, honestly.

“Hey.”  Draco turned around, a shimmer in the air beside him indicating that Luna had also paused.  “Thank you, really.  For everything.”

Draco snorted, although there was the hint of a pleased smile as he left.  “I don’t get paid enough to deal with you and your injuries.  Get out of here.”

Harry grinned.

* * *

“Oh my god I’m so _sorry,_ ” Lavender apologized profusely.  She was crying shimmering tears and clutching at Harry’s hands, willing him to understand…something.  “Ron and I should have done something sooner.  We thought you were just late, or something held you up, but when you were late for an hour we got so worried…”

“It’s not your fault, you didn’t know,” Harry said, glancing desperately at Ron.  The redhead looked just as helpless in the face of the female alien’s tears, trying to focus on his chess match with Draco.  “You contacted the ship as soon as you suspected something was wrong.”

“We should have done it _sooner_ ,” Lavender wailed.  Her hair twisted like live snakes in distress, and Harry sighed.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Harry repeated for probably the hundredth time.  Reassuring hysterical females had never been his strong suit.  Actually, reassuring hysterical _anythings_ wasn’t really his strong suit.

“Lav, love, it’s okay.  Everything worked out fine.”  Ron broke away from his chess game to wrap his arm around her shoulders and pull her away.  Harry shot him a grateful look.  “See?  Harry’s alright.  And I bet he’s got wicked scars and cool stories to tell from it.”

_“He could have died!_ ” Lavender cried.  Good old tactless Ron.

Cedric made a very valiant attempt to calm the situation.  “Well, all’s well that ends well, right?” he asked.  He made to clap Harry on the shoulder but faltered last minute, probably remembering that Harry had been kidnapped only the day before and wasn’t in the best condition to be slapped or roughhoused with.  “So, tell us about it.”

“Yes, please tell us about how you managed to break your ribs and stab yourself multiple times,” Draco drawled from across the table.  He scowled fiercely at the redhead.  Ron smugly took one of the Veela’s pieces, and Draco spat vitriol at his opponent.

Tom was sat on the couch beside Harry, hovering like some kind of cloud of doom.  Ever since the day before, Tom had been strangely overprotective of Harry and monitored his every action with somewhat terrifying scrutiny.  Harry was kind of touched.

“Well…” Harry said, unsure where to begin.  “I was…uh, kidnapped?”

“We _all_ know that.”  Zacharias was sprawled on another lounge chair, focused on some kind of portable video game.  “How’d you get kidnapped?”

Hermione scowled disapprovingly from where she was knitting on what seemed like an oversized sweater.  Blaise was doing some kind of exercise with his psionic powers, carefully manipulating the yarn thread so that he was knitting without the sticks.  Which was, huh, actually really impressive.

“Er.”  Harry couldn’t just say, _yeah, I was at a bar and met a really handsome guy, but it turned out he was working for Voldemort and drugged me when all I wanted was to get laid_.  That was kind of humiliating.  “I was drugged at a bar,” he settled for.

“And then?” Blaise pressed.  God, he had such nosy crewmates, really, how did Harry end up with them again?  And why did he like them?

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Tom said, quietly, so that it only reached Harry’s ears.  Harry sent the Dershite a grateful smile and patted his thigh.

“I don’t mind,” Harry whispered back before raising his voice.  And really, he didn’t mind.  Talking about things had gotten easier, ever since he began talking with Tom that first time.  Self-deprecation no longer festered like a rotting wound, and those memories of watching _explosions green crackling energy death staring him right in the face_ weren’t as terrifying as before.  His head also didn’t hurt much anymore, which was always a plus.  He mentally thanked Draco and Luna, again, for being the best damn medical staff ever.  They really did deserve a raise, not that Harry could authorize that, but if he _could_ , they’d get one.  “Well, I woke up in this storeroom, right?  And…”

Harry recounted the tale, including how he’d pried a nail out of a crate and cut his ropes, listened to Crouch’s half-sane ramblings, fought both The Rock and Catwoman, and then found Tom being a badass beating up aliens left, right, and center.

“Wait,” Cho interrupted, shooting forwards.  “You fought Alecto and Amycus Carrow, defeated them, and you _killed Alecto_?”

“Well,” Harry prevaricated, “technically I ran away from…er, Amycus, was it?  I was calling him The Rock in my head.”

Cho slapped her hands against her face and dragged them down, slowly, like she couldn’t believe Harry at all.  Harry was getting used to this reaction.  “I can’t believe you’re talking about beating one of the best tag team fighters this side of the universe and managing to kill one of them like it was nothing.”

“It wasn’t really nothing, I got stabbed and broken ribs out of the deal, didn’t you hear?” Harry joked in an awkward attempt at humility.  “Didn’t know they were famous.”

“They are on my planet,” Cho explained.  She shook her head, giant antlers swaying with the motion.  “We put a lot of emphasis on fighting and physical arts, and the Carrow siblings are both feared and revered in our culture.”  There was a gleam in Cho’s eyes, and she leaned onto her legs.  She grinned sweetly.  “You’re good at fighting, you say?”

“I’m okay?” Harry asked more than stated.  He leaned backwards to get away from the scarily eager look on Cho’s face.  The motion pressed his side against Tom, a warm column of heat who moved his arm to lie across the back of the seat accommodatingly.  His fingers brushed Harry’s opposite shoulder.

“You wouldn’t mind sparring sometime, would you?”

Cedric, sensing Harry’s trepidation, drew his girlfriend back.  “Alright, I’m pretty sure by now you’re going to leave me for Harry.  Good at engineering _and_ fighting?” he asked, and Cho immediately blushed and shook her head before gazing up adoringly at Cedric.  “Why don’t you ask him when he’s not injured anymore?”

“So what other hidden talents do you have hidden up your sleeves?” Blaise asked.  “You know how to fix complicated warp cells and repulsor reactors, and you’re apparently a scarily competent fighter.”

“I’m really nothing special,” Harry replied, by now increasingly uncomfortable.  He really _wasn’t_ anything special, there were dozens of individuals who were well versed in engineering and fighting.

Tom seemed to sense Harry’s unease and cut in smoothly, “Let’s stop grilling our Captain.  He had a rough day yesterday.”

“You’re right!” Blaise replied brightly.  He grinned alarmingly, suspiciously.  Which wasn’t good.  “Let’s talk about how you frantically dashed to your Captain’s rescue without _waiting for any of us_.”

Tom blinked languidly.  “You were being slow.”

There were suspicious coughs in the direction of the chess game, and Zacharias snorted into his handheld screen.

“And it had nothing to do with anything else, hm?” Blaise needled.  Hermione frowned and kicked him with a foot, sending the psionic sprawling and making him lose his progress with his scarf.

“It is my duty to assist my Captain,” Tom answered stiffly.  He glared warningly at the psionic, who rubbed his bum from where he collided with the floor.  Under the warning looks of both him and Hermione, he subsided, although he was still smirking.

Harry felt a pang of…something he didn’t want to identify.  ‘Assist my Captain.’  Not ‘friend,’ but ‘Captain.’  He shook away his thought and frowned at himself admonishingly.  Really, what a silly thought.

“Right, well, I think it’s time for me to sleep,” Harry announced to the room at large, slowly and gingerly getting to his feet.  “Doctor’s orders, I gotta get a lot of rest.”

“You never listen to your doctor, Potter,” Draco called, pushing the board away from him with a disgusted sneer as Ron took his king.  “You win this time, Weasel,” Draco muttered.

“This time?  I win _every_ time,” Ron taunted smugly.

Harry chuckled.  He really loved his friends, no matter how much they bickered with each other and acted like rowdy members of a circus.

“Excuse me?  Captain?” two timid voices asked, and Harry turned, surprised, to see two somewhat familiar aliens.  They were vaguely reptilian, with long, sinuous tails and dark grey and white accents along their skin.  Milky white eyes blinked at him.

“Yes?” Harry asked politely.  They tilted their head simultaneously, as if connected by the same brain, and when they spoke, they had identical pitches and spoke at the same time in harmony.

“Our names are Padma and Parvati Patil,” they said.  Then they smiled, small shy things that completely contrasted their unnerving mannerisms and appearances.  Harry finally placed them as the civilian twins that often served at their lounge bar.  “We just wanted to say that it’s good to have you back, Captain, and we’re glad you’re safe.”

Harry smiled, somewhat caught off guard.  “It’s good to be back.”

They hummed.  “We hope you have a quick and safe recovery.”  With no words wasted, they returned to their positions.  Despite their abrupt entrance and exit, though, he was touched.

“Well that was nice of them,” Harry mused, and there was a silly grin plastered on his face.  And for some reason, he couldn’t seem to stop smiling.  Really, he was such a _dork_.

“The crew really likes you, Harry,” Tom said, guiding Harry out of the lounge after various goodbyes and see you laters.

“I never noticed.”

“I know you don’t.”  Tom shrugged.  “I think you’ve become someone they really look up to and rely on.”

“You’re kidding.”

Tom hummed, and his eyes crinkled from his amusement as they entered the elevator to head up to the living quarters.  It had a devastating effect on his face, and something in Harry’s chest flopped like a beached whale.  “Most certainly not.  You’re a fantastic Captain.”

Harry practically glowed with pleasure.  If he’d even dared to imagine something like this several months ago, where he had actual crewmates welcoming him back to the ship, where his Commander genuinely thought he was a great Captain, he’d have scoffed and written it off as a delusion.  Finding that it’d come true, that he really was living up to everyone’s expectations, was a dream come true.

The lift opened, and Harry headed towards his door to take a very long shower and sleep.  He hadn’t been lying when he said he was tired and wanted some rest.

“Do you want to come in?” he blurted out suddenly, turning to Tom, who’d frozen in front of his own door like a deer in headlights.  “I mean, to talk, or, um, I don’t know,” Harry stuttered, and then mentally beat himself, “never mind, you’re probably tired, I should just-”

“I’d love to,” Tom cut in, something warm in his voice.  Harry’s heart skipped at the beaming smile Tom sent his way, and he flushed in pleasure.

And they talked.  Harry sprawled on his bed, pillow hugged to his chest, and Tom sat on the one comfortable chair Harry owned.  They talked about everything, from literature to philosophy to politics, about Tom’s incredible experiences on other planets and Harry’s adventures at Hogwarts.  They chattered like a couple of teenage girls having a sleep over, and Harry was lulled to sleep by Tom’s deep voice telling him the story of how he’d accidentally stolen a religious artifact once on a planet and had to smooth over the diplomatic disaster that resulted.

Harry fell asleep with a smile on his face.

* * *

Harry was, by consensus of practically everyone on the ship, not allowed off the ship anymore.  Harry found this somewhat insulting since, hey, he could _totally_ take care of himself.  Nobody else seemed to agree.

“Hey, remember that time he was almost killed by a sentient plant?” Blaise commented lightly as they approached a new planet, this one covered in water.  Only 5% of its surface was made up of land, and the rest of it was the beautiful pink color of some kind of ocean.

“I distinctly recall him getting attacked two separate times at two separate trading ports,” Zacharias added, the bastard.

“Oh my god, it’s covered in _water_ , what do you think’s going to happen?” Harry asked, exasperated.  Tom, the absolute traitor, only smirked amusedly.

“You could get eaten,” Hermione piped up.

“Drown,” Ron offered.

“Attacked by fishy aliens.”

“Enough out of all of you,” Harry said, rolling his eyes.  It’d been two months, _two months_ , since Durmstrang.  He’d thought they’d have forgotten by now, but no, of course not, they were all a bunch of overprotective mother hens determined to bore him to death.  “I’m heading down.”

“I’ll come with you,” Tom said, mild as milk, and apparently that was that, Tom was coming with.

Harry sighed and stood from their overcrowded mess hall table.  At some point, they’d all managed to push together several tables so nobody was squished like a sardine anymore and actually had elbow room.  It was rare when they all managed to get together to eat at the same time, but they’d managed to establish a schedule.  Breakfast was at 0730 for whoever could make it, lunch as 1200, and dinner at 1800.  Sometimes, even Luna came to join them, and they all made a game out of how many times they could get someone to sit on Luna or try to take away her chair before she scared the living daylights out of them.

Ever since the Patil twins had approached him that day after Durmstrang, Harry had made an effort to get to know his crewmembers.  He started with Neville, down in the science division, who had been a close friend with Harry at Hogwarts before the whole disaster with Voldemort had happened.  Ever since they’d graduated, though, they’d drifted apart.  Neville had been delighted to reconnect, to Harry’s surprise, and they had ended up spending a good portion of the day reminiscing about their one-time adventure with the Devil’s Snare.  Never again.

And then Harry had taken Cho up on the offer to spar.  They had weekly meetings in the training room.  Usually, their spars ended in a draw, which was, apparently, incredibly impressive.  Cedric joined in sometimes, but the taller, more muscular male always ended up on his back at both of their hands, blinking dazedly at the ceiling and wondering what had just happened.  Cho taught him different maneuvers, _interesting_ maneuvers, and Harry taught her how to grapple and street brawl.

Then there was Pansy Parkinson, a brilliant if not terrifying technician down in engineering.  She was sharp and, despite her petite frame, strong enough to easily lift a fifty kilo machine with ease.  One of Draco’s friends since childhood, Pansy was in charge of inventions and incorporating new technology into the ship, and Harry found out that all the replacement parts that Cedric had gotten from Durmstrang had actually been requested on her behalf, not Cedric’s.

Susan Bones was the head of enforcement on the ship, with Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe working directly under her.  Marcus Flint was the alien in charge of the cargo bay and was also crushing hard on the Oliver Wood, the technician.  And Colin and Dennis Creevey were hatchmates and the historians of the ship’s journeys, doggedly pursuing every rumor and story to put in their growing diaries.

But most of the time, Harry had spent his off hours with Tom.  They shared practically every meal together, and every other day they ended up hanging out in one of their rooms, either debating the merits of a Nimbus-2000 cell to a Firebolt cell or sparring or just sharing a period of silence, staring out at the stars.

Space, Harry found, didn’t quite scare him as much anymore as it had before.  When Harry looked out at the stars, the billions of small twinkling pinpoints of light that reminded him of Christmas back home, he didn’t think about dying alone in the middle of inky dark void.  He thought about possibilities, of where he could go with the _Marauder_ , of all the different kinds of people he could meet and beautiful planets he could find, millions of possibilities stretched out before him like an ever branching tree. 

Harry thought he understood why his parents had loved space so much.  He loved the freedom to decide where he wanted to go, do what he wanted to do, see what he wanted to see.  A thousand paths, right between supernovas and asteroid fields and planets

Nightmares hadn’t been as much of a problem anymore, either.  When he woke up gasping, clawing at his forehead and imagining vibrant green Avadra, he almost always found himself in Tom’s room.  The first time had been an accident, blind panic sending to seek out the closest source of comfort.  The second time and the third time had been less accidental, but Tom never seemed to mind having his sleep broken by his hysterical Captain.  Every time, Tom would bundle him up in his comforter and fall asleep beside him.  Waking up in his Commander’s arms stopped being weird after the fourth time, especially when Tom only smiled gently and murmured, “We all have nightmares, Harry.”

And to top off it all off, Harry hadn’t been getting his headaches anymore.

Really, Harry thought as he dumped his trash in the incinerator, he had it pretty good.

“Get ready to head planetside,” he called to the table.

“I’ll be sure to ready a med bed for you,” Draco replied dryly.

“Ye of little faith,” Harry muttered, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care much.  He was finally stepping off the ship after weeks and _weeks_ of coddling.  He was going to make the most of it.

And he wasn’t going to end up in the med bay.  _He wasn’t_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He totally is.
> 
> Anywho, I kind of want to rewrite a very large portion of the next chapter, so it'll be a bit later than usual. I'm not quite happy with how Harry gets hurt. My original plan seems like such a cop-out now, and I want it to be exciting! Lol.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry this took so long. It turned out I didn't actually edit too much of this chapter in the end, but real life kind of got to me. Had a 10 hour shift on Sunday, and then I had a bunch of emails and applications I needed to do (and still need to do). Anyways, as always, thank you so, so much for all of your reviews! Your support is honestly the best thing ever, and it's all super inspiring and amazing and I don't think I can ever express how thankful I am for all of you. Thank you!
> 
> Please enjoy!

The equipment room on the  _Marauder_  was like a small shopping center. Tools for different environments lined the walls. There were heat-resistant suits for hot environments, gas masks for toxic atmospheres, and specialized hoods for the odd planet that rained acid. And then, stored safely away under lock and key, were the heavy duty equipment: laser knives tough enough to cut through steel, phasers that worked underwater, machetes for thick jungles. Almost anything and everything Harry needed to go exploring a new planet was stored within those four walls.

Harry and Tom slowly made their towards the equipment room to prepare themselves for their planetside mission. In one corner, gear exclusively for planets with large bodies of water were hanging from the walls and stored in cabinets. Cormac McLaggen, the officer in charge of the equipment room and the one who made sure everything was accounted for at the end of the day (ie the man Harry really didn't want to piss off, because then he was guaranteed the shittiest equipment for the rest of his stay aboard the ship), nodded at Harry from his counter and passed over a ring of keys.

"Alright, Commander, what should we be expecting down there. Giant predators ready to chew us up and spit us out like toys?" Harry asked casually, jingling the keys as he looked for the right one. "Maybe an underwater volcano? How about spontaneous whirlpools?"

"As far as my team could tell," Tom replied, "the water should be relatively harmless for most alien physiology. The color itself comes from small, microscopic organisms that fluoresce under the sunlight and are the main food source for many of the resident animals. Lieutenant Granger has reported that she has not made any contact with sentient organisms. Either they do not have the technology for space travel yet, or there are none."

With a small  _aha!_ , Harry unlocked a cabinet and began rummaging around for a wetsuit his shape and size. The wetsuits had been made to conform to any shape, given the diverse body parts most aliens had, but some were smaller or larger to provide a more air-tight environment. He made a triumphant noise when he found one and made his way to a shared changing room. Tom was holding a similar black wetsuit and followed.

"Cool," Harry said, distracted as he toed off his shoes and pulled off his uniform shirt. "Why're we headed down there, again?" There was a slightly strangled noise behind him, and he turned with a raised eyebrow to see Tom staring at the ceiling with the kind of focused intensity he used when dealing with a science problem. "You alright there, Commander?"

"Fi-" Tom cleared his throat and began taking off his clothes as well. "Fine. Sorry, Captain, what was your question?"

Harry frowned and walked towards the Dershite, who was in the process of trying to take his pants off. And  _goddamn_ the Dershite was fit. Really, Tom was kind of Harry's type. Harry frowned a bit, distracted by the muscles flexing under pale white skin. Why wasn't he tapping that again? Right, because Tom was his  _second in command_ , and having a romantic relationship with a coworker usually ended in blood, sweat, and tears for all parties, especially when said second in command didn't like him back.

Harry shook his head, trying to dislodge the sudden disappointment that made itself known. Huffing at himself in derision, he walked towards Tom and leaned up to put a palm to Tom's forehead, which didn't seem overly hot. Actually, no, Tom's face was starting to take on a redder hue, and the veins around his eyes protruded slightly. Was Tom sick?

"Are you okay?" he asked slowly. "You're kind of red. You don't have to come with me if you're not feeling well."

"No," Tom said after several attempts at opening and closing his mouth like a fish. He took a step back abruptly, breaking contact with Harry's palm and single-mindedly began stripping. "What was your question?"

Harry raised an eyebrow at Tom's odd behavior but decided to let it go. "I was asking why we were going down there in the first place. Something the science division needed?"

Tom seized upon the topic like a lifeline. "Yes. Federation reports indicate that they need a suitable planet for several aquatic alien life forms to colonize. If we were to find any planets that met certain criteria, we would flag it as a place of interest."

Harry hummed as he finished pulling his wetsuit over his shoulders. He was completely covered in a black, form-fitting material. All he needed now was his oxygen converter, the wetsuit's accompanying head piece so that he was covered head to toe, and safety equipment, just in case something  _did_ decide to attack Harry in the water. Safety first, as always.

He stretched experimentally and looked over to see how Tom was faring. The Dershite was slipping his arm into his sleeve, and Harry took a moment to be vehemently envious of Tom's physique. It was sometimes hard to tell under the uniform regulated shirt and pants, but the male was incredibly fit (which he'd already known from sparring practices, but  _still_ ) and built like a model. It was unfair, how some people just got the best of everything.

Tom noticed Harry looking and sent a charming little grin, completely unaware of the somersaults his smile was making Harry's insides do.

"Ready to go?" he asked belatedly, after Tom's grin faltered when Harry was too absorbed staring at the Dershite, and left the changing room to hunt for an oxygen converter and hoods. He threw one of each at Tom, who caught them easily. The Dershite was back to avoiding looking at Harry, which was kind of weird and somewhat hurtful. Harry really wasn't  _that_ ugly in the suit, was he? He subtly checked his butt. Maybe the suit made him look fat.

Cormac called, "I think we have some hand-held harpoons lying around somewhere. Think you'll need a net or something to catch fish with?"

Harry sent Cormac an incredulous look. "Why would we be catching fish."

The other officer shrugged. "Dunno. We could get someone to cook something better than whatever our replicator would spit out. Well, everything's in that closet to your left. Take the whole damn closet, just make sure you don't die again."

The Captain rolled his eyes and opened the closet, peering into its deep, dark depths. Where the hell, and  _why_ , did they even get harpoons anyways?

Harry dug through the equipment like a child in the middle of a toy store and waved to Tom to get the amused Dershite's attention.

"Right, go grab whatever bottles for samples or devices or whatever you science people need, and let's get going," Harry chirped, trying to inject as much cheerfulness into his voice as he . He didn't need to inflict his apparent attraction to Tom on the poor alien. Harry determinedly pushed his thoughts aside. "Meet in the transporter room in fifteen minutes. We head out then."

* * *

The planet was  _beautiful_.

They had been beamed down into the middle of the water, oxygen converters strapped around their heads and on their mouths and hoods tightly wrapped around their faces. The sunlight made the water shimmer like pink gems, waves gently making them bob up and down. Harry really wished he could just strip off his suit and feel the temperature of the water, enjoy half a day of just soaking and swimming and exploring.

Beside him, Tom was filling different vials and bottles with samples of water. Harry didn't even try to pretend to know what the Dershite was fiddling around with and was content to just float on his back and stare at the sky. Hah, and his crew thought he'd be in danger here.

He twisted in the water and pressed one of the many fancy buttons on his belt, allowing him to slowly sink deeper and deeper. His ears popped from the pressure, but he wasn't bothered, instead captivated by the marine life all around him. Brightly colored creatures unlike anything Harry had seen on Terra darted past him. There were some shaped like hollow tubes, their insides lined with little cilia that propelled them past Harry. In the distance, he could make out something giant, with flippers longer than he was tall. It floated past, ignoring all the smaller lives surrounding it.

Above him, something splashed into the water. Harry looked up to see something that looked like the cross between a fish and a bird, with oiled feathers covering its body clearly used for flight and a secondary set of fins underneath. It darted down to catch a small, wriggling animal and darted back up to the surface to take flight.

And further below, where the water filtered out the light from the sun, the pink turned to dark, dark blue. There was the occasional flash of white, like someone had strapped Christmas lights onto some of the fish, clouds of little twinkling dots that turned from blue to green to purple.

New worlds never ceased to amaze him.

There was a tap on his shoulder, and Harry turned to see Tom pointing at his samples and giving a thumbs up. Harry wished he could stay longer, but he didn't have an excuse to. Maybe he could convince the crewmates to stay a bit longer after the samples had been tested. If they were clean, and the water safe to swim in, he could probably appeal to Ron's sense of fun and Hermione's curiosity and dock at the planet for a week to just relax. He wasn't quite sure how many of those on his ship could swim, but there were bound to be some who looked forwards to spending time planetside as much as he did.

He gestured to Tom, asking,  _Done?_

Tom nodded, and he scanned the water regretfully, like he too wished he could stay in this underwater world a little bit longer too. Their own little bubble, idyllic and beautiful, where the only things that existed were them and the planet's residents.

Harry nodded, and he began to reach toward his belt to begin floating upwards when he saw it out of the corner of his eye.

It was a thin, long animal, like an eel, undulating with the currents, nearly translucent that was hard to tell apart from the rest of the water at first glance except for the soft green accents along its body. Harry wouldn't have paid it any attention if it wasn't facing directly at the two of them, a stark difference from the continuous movement of all the other fish that darted past.

Harry tapped Tom's arm and pointed at the creature. Tom narrowed his eyes, glanced at Harry, and shook his head, pointing upwards. Unnerved, Harry nodded in acquiescence.

Well, as long as it didn't make any sudden movements, they would be fine.

Harry began rising in the water, making sure to go slowly, when the mysterious creature darted, almost faster than Harry could see, directly at Tom.

Harry had never been a good swimmer. Passable, yes, and when equipped with the right oxygen converter, he could navigate the waters passably. Compared to the planet's inhabitants, though, he was nothing, dead in the water, and he knew it.

The creature opened long, big jaws, with vicious fangs made for piercing. Harry made a startled noise, too late to react, not fast enough in the ocean.

Thankfully, Tom was a bit faster.

Tom's hand closed around the animal's neck, directly behind its jaws. It thrashed angrily, long sinuous body wrapping around Tom's arm. It was slick, fast, and powerful, with a clear advantage over the two of them. The Dershite's grip wasn't firm, not around the mucus that covered its body, and it slipped away quickly.

Harry took out a knife he'd strapped to his waist and lashed out, as quickly as he could under water. The tip of the knife skimmed the animal's body, and all its rage, anger, hunger turned towards Harry.

Tom's eyes widened, and he reached out to grapple with the animal again. It wiggled out of the Dershite's fingers, and it swam at Harry, maw wide open, and the next thing Harry knew, something bit through his wetsuit and  _into his skin_.

Harry screamed into his converter, flinching backwards when fire immediately began to race from the bite on his shoulder. The creature began gnawing at his skin, gnashing, teeth never leaving for more than a millisecond.

Tom frantically swam towards Harry and grabbed it in the middle, but just as his previous attempts to subdue it failed, this one did too.

Harry clawed at the thing and his skin, but it was latched on tight. The burning was getting worse, spreading, a fire chased by icy coldness, and then finally numbness. It was a slow spread, but it advanced on the rest of Harry's body like an inevitable sickness. When the fire reached his chest, Harry started coughing, gasping for breath. He tried to breathe deeply, but his lungs just  _wouldn't listen_. Panic began to crowd his mind, and he tugged insistently on Tom and then pointed upwards shakily.

Tom took the nonverbal order and dragged them both up, slow enough to avoid decompression sickness, but only barely.

Their heads broke the water, and Tom ripped his converter off so he could bellow into his comm, " _Beam us up now!_ "

Harry felt himself begin to disintegrate, but when he found himself on the ship, the  _thing_ was still attached to him, writhing like an angry worm. Harry's breathing stuttered, and he tried to scream, tried to lift his hands to pull it off of him, but his lungs, his arms, nothing was obeying.

"What happened?" Cedric asked, breathless as someone cradled his head in their hands.

"Something bit him. Venomous, get Malfoy  _right now_ ," Tom snapped. There was a ferocious snarl, the sound of metal, and suddenly the thing was cut in half. It loosened from Harry's flesh, and Tom pried it off and threw it across the room before yanking Harry's hood off. Hands, cold hands, colder than normal, touched his forehead, and Tom cursed. "Shit. Harry, can you hear me?"

Harry gasped, shaking and sweating. He wheezed out pathetically, and he tried mouthing words, something along the lines of "why the fuck is it always me" and "it's fine don't worry it'll all be okay." He didn't think he managed to get either out, which Tom took as a sign to panic.

"What the fuck happened this time?" he heard Draco ask, in a far-away voice, like he was on the other side of a large auditorium.

"Bit by something venomous," Tom snapped. Draco pressed another pair of hands against his forehead, face blurry in Harry's vision.

"Do you have a toxin sample?" the doctor asked. "He's got a sky high fever, and his blood pressure is rising. He's also starting to have difficulty breathing. Nurse Lovegood, anything I missed?"

"He's going into shock," Luna replied grimly. "The venom is starting to spread from the injection sight and is paralyzing his diaphragm. The rest of his muscles will also become paralyzed if we don't get an antivenin soon."

"Commander, I need you to get me an antivenin as soon as possible," Draco ordered. Tom practically growled like a feral animal, glaring dangerously at the Veela. "I don't care if you're higher ranked than me, if you don't synthesize one soon, we'll all be short a Captain. I can only relieve the symptoms, not cure it."

Tom turned his venomous glare at the creature, which was lying on the ground on the other side of the room, limp, most probably dead.

" _If he dies,_ " Tom warned, and Draco snorted.

"I want him dead as much as you do, which is not at all," the doctor replied, almost gently. "Go."

Tom disappeared from Harry's sight, and Draco's blurry face hovered over Harry's. He felt a needle press into his shoulder, another into the crook of his arm.

"If you die on me, Potter, I will personally revive you and kill you again," Draco whispered fiercely. "I'm sure I'll find a way too. I'm a doctor."

After that, time passed slowly, so slowly. Harry felt like his whole body was on fire, concentrated on his shoulder and spreading to the tips of his toes. Occasionally, when Draco gave him medications through his IV, the fire abated, or he could breathe more easily, or his eyesight returned just a little bit, but the fire always returned, a burning cold sensation that made Harry feel like he was encased in ice. And that wasn't even accounting for the prickles of a thousand needles, small waves of numbness that overcame the burning fire briefly but scared Harry more than the burning did.

Seconds, minutes, maybe even hours or days passed. The only thing he could focus on was breathing. Every time he dozed off, he choked on air and jerked awake. Exhaustion was pulling at the ends of his consciousness, and breathing was getting harder with each inhale, exhale.

Harry didn't know how long it would take Tom to get him an antivenin, he honestly didn't, but he had faith that Tom would succeed. Tom, smart tom, attractive Tom, Tom who comforted him after his nightmares and wrapped him in a comforter, Tom who was always there to banter or hold deep philosophical conversations with, Tom who was always up for a spar, Tom who shared every meal with him.

Harry never realized how much Tom had become intertwined with his life over the past months.

And right there, on the edge of passing out, with death knocking at his door, he realized with a kind of jolting clarity that he was kind of, sort of infatuated with his Commander. In love with, even.

Harry clung to that one thought, that one sentiment, the yearning to see Tom's face again, to make him smile and laugh. Harry could bottle up that laugh and keep it forever if he could. Tom wouldn't even have to love him back, just be there as they slowly mapped out the edges of space and discovered new planets together.

Harry realized that he couldn't die, just like that. He had friends who counted on him, loved him, and would be devastated if he left. He had a whole ship to take care of, one whose crewmembers were possibly even fond of him. He had people who cared for him now, and it would be incredibly selfish of him to just up and leave them.

He couldn't just give up, like he wanted to so many months ago. Because he realized, for the first time was fully cognizant of the fact that he was  _happy_. And he didn't want to let that happiness go.

So he fought. He didn't let the exhaustion drown him, resisted the sweet song of sleep and paced each breath, keeping count. In, out, in, out.

"I've got it."

The voice, Tom's voice, rang through the med bay, panting and winded from probably running straight from his lab bench to Draco.

"Give it here," Draco growled. He asked, "Do you know how much we'll need? Too little and it won't work, too much and we run the risk of poisoning him all over again."

"No," Tom replied, strained. "But I don't think we can afford to wait any longer."

Draco hummed in agreement. "Nurse Lovegood, I'll need you to See how much of this I'll need to counteract the venom dosage."

"Understood, doctor."

Harry tracked Draco shuffling to his side. Tense silence reigned in the room, broken by Luna's soft "that should be enough, doctor" and then a weary sigh.

"And now, we wait."

There was the sound of someone collapsing into a chair, and the bed shifted slightly.

"He'll be fine, Riddle. He's too stubborn to just give up now."

"I certainly hope so." Tom sounded tired, wrecked, and hurting. Harry wanted to reach out and tell him everything would be okay, but his mouth didn't want to form words.

The first sign that the antivenin was working was the returning sensation. He no longer felt like he'd been doused in an arctic ocean somewhere, just slightly chilly water. And then he could breath, and Harry didn't think he'd ever take breathing for granted again. He took a deep lungful of air, forcing his chest to  _work_ , dammit. He opened his eyes – when had he closed them? – and glared blearily up at a black and white and red splotch that was probably Tom.

"I don't think we can put that planet as inhabitable, Commander," he said. Slurred, really, possibly croaked incoherently. He didn't even think Tom really understood his words, judging by the Dershite's pinched eyebrows.

"I think everything in this universe and the next is gunning for your life," Riddle said. Something clenched his hand. Hey, he could kind of feel again! "We'll have to keep you on the ship forever at this rate."

"Please don't do that," Harry mumbled. He flexed his jaw and convinced his tongue to work properly. It was kind of off-putting that he ended up injured so often.

"If it's not a plant trying to eat you, it'll be hostile forces. If it's not hostile forces, it'll be ignorant space pirates. And if it's not space pirates, it'll be the damn animals," Riddle said, somewhat moodily. "I feel like I'm more concerned for your health than you are."

"I blame my abysmally bad luck." Everything seemed a bit warmer too. He bent his fingers to get the feeling of pins and needles out of them. "How long has it been since I got poisoned by the eel from hell?"

Tom's face kind of crumpled, or as much as a stoic Dershite could crumple, which was very distressing. Hey, no, Harry was the one who got poisoned, Tom had no right to feel guilty.

"It took me eighteen hours to synthesize a treatment for you, and once delivered, another two until now," Tom said miserably. Wow, the Dershite must have been drowning in guilt or something, because he had never been this emotional around Harry before. Maybe it was the near death experience? But Harry had, like, ten near death experiences before, and Tom never looked like he was one word away from breaking down. "I'm sorry it took me so long."

Harry rolled his eyes at the ceiling. "Oh my god, Tom, I'm not even mad. Actually, I'm incredibly impressed by how quickly you whipped up a cure for a previously unknown venom of a mysterious animal on a mysterious planet." Harry smiled as widely as he could. He thought his lips might have twitched in the right direction. "Hey, thanks for saving my life."

Tom gave a large sigh and leaned his forehead down so that it touched Harrys. Tom closed his eyes, as if bathing in the reality that Harry was alive. One second, two seconds, five passed, and then he opened those gorgeous red and black eyes again and grinned beatifically down at Harry, and  _wow_. Wow. Harry didn't see how he didn't realize he was head over heels in love with Tom before, because  _wow_ that smile made his heart skip like it was playing hopscotch. Wow.

"Anytime," Tom said warmly, breathlessly.

Harry may or may not have been in trouble. Damn handsome Dershites.

They gazed soulfully at each other (or, well, Harry gazed soulfully at Tom, he couldn't tell what Tom was thinking) when there was the angry clacking of a curtain being drawn and then the seething tone of a very, very angry doctor.

"Potter," Draco said, calmly, icily, which was much more terrifying than when he was expressively mad and red-faced, "I will chain you to a wall. Or your Captain's chair. And you will never set foot on another planet if I can help it."

"…kinky," Harry replied weakly. If Tom's smile didn't kill him first, Draco's wrath certainly would.

* * *

Harry, after his ill-timed revelation, was now always fully cognizant of the fact that yes, Tom was actually a very fine specimen of an alien, and yes, he didn't smile often but when he did it was like sunlight and summer, and  _yes_ , Harry really was getting in way too deep for this not to end in tragedy.

He blamed his…er. Four? Five? Six? Some number of near-death experiences for it to sink in.

Because really, Tom was what anyone would imagine when they thought of the word 'Captain.' Tall, handsome, charismatic, with a wicked, razor-sharp intelligence and fierce loyalty to his crew to boot. And Harry honestly couldn't measure up to someone like that.

So he kept silent about it. He tried to act as normally as possible, laughing at Ron's jokes (" _Okay, but really, would you rather have an orgasm every time you saw a squash, or only be able to orgasm when you see a squash?"_ ), suffering through Hermione's worrying ( _"Harry, you're not feeling any left over effects of the venom, are you? Are you having any shortness of breath, headaches, chest pain, fever, chills, nausea, vomiting, or diarrhea?"_ ), and having those late-night outings with Tom, where they laughed and ate and stared at the stars together.

Everything was normal, although Tom did seem to hover a bit more, but at the same time, it wasn't. Harry was so, so aware of every time Tom leaned over to whisper something on the bridge, of every time they brushed shoulders when talking in the lounge, of every little smile and laugh. Sometimes Harry would lean away, trying to crush the full-blown affection in his chest, and sometimes Harry would give an excuse to avoid hanging out with Tom, but really, who could see through his lies?

Tom never said anything, though, so neither did Harry. He didn't act any differently, and he didn't think anyone would notice.

Except, apparently, someone did. Harry never was very good at acting, and Hermione always was his most observant friend.

"Alright, spill." Hermione firmly sat him down on a beanbag with her not inconsiderable strength, that same beanbag they had occupied so many months ago when Harry thought Tom hated his guts. They were holding the exact same mugs with the exact kind of tea wafting delicious smells through the air.

"What?" Harry asked, confused. Was he supposed to spill the tea? Why did Hermione want him to just…spill tea? What?

"Something's  _obviously_ wrong, you've been acting weird for  _weeks_ , and you never did like talking about your problems. So I'm sitting you down, and we're going to talk about it," Hermione said, calmly sipping at her mug and looking like a regal queen expecting her subject to bow below her. And really, Harry held none of the power against her, because when Hermione really wanted to know something, she was a bit like a pit bull, sinking her teeth straight in and not letting go. It was both endearing and frustrating.

"Nothing's wrong?" Harry half replied, half asked, because he really, honestly didn't know what she was talking about.

"Fine then, I'll start." Hermione set down her mug. "You've been acting differently around Commander Riddle."

Harry stiffened. "Have  _not_."

Hermione talked over him like he hadn't spoken. "You've been avoiding him. Sure, you hang out during meals sometimes, and you still have your little dates, but you're clearly uncomfortable about something, and it's pretty obvious."

Harry was kind of offended. "I'm not  _obvious_."

Hermione leveled a look so dry to rival the greatest desert on him. "Yes, you kind of are."

"And they weren't dates," Harry mumbled petulantly.

Hermione stared at him in clear disbelief. "Harry, are you saying that all those  _private_ dinners you've been sharing with him and those times you disappeared together  _weren't_ dates? You've just been, what, sharing purely platonic bonding moments for the past three or four months?"

"Exactly. He doesn't even like me that way," Harry said glumly. "We're just friends. We haven't been  _dating._ "

"Considering that the whole ship can see Tom's crush on you lightyears away, and you're absolutely smitten with him, I can confirm that they were all dates."

"I'm not  _smitten_. We're just having very touching bonding moments."

"Is that what kids are calling it these days."

"We're just friends."

There was an incredulous noise. " _Just friends._ Harry, people don't work for eighteen straight hours without any breaks to synthesize a cure for an incredibly rare venom for people who are  _just friends._ "

Harry clutched at his mug tighter. "He sees me as a trusted Captain and reliable coworker, that's all. I'm thankful for his dedication."

There was a muttered  _"oh my god"_ and what sounded like Hermione slapping her forehead. Harry had fixed his eyes on a porthole so he didn't have to look at Hermione. He was regretting agreeing to a cup of tea with her.

"Are you  _blind_?" Hermione asked. "He looks at you like you hung the moon and the stars, and then proceeded to create every single planet in the galaxy."

Harry wondered if Hermione needed to get her head checked. And he desperately wanted to stop talking about this really, truly uncomfortable topic. "He really doesn't. He doesn't like me that way, Hermione."

"Okay, blind and oblivious." Hermione scooted her beanbag towards Harry with envious ease. Those beanbags were  _heavy_. "But you like him?"

"I thought that was pretty obvious by now, considering you've been grilling me for at least five minutes now about this," Harry replied sarcastically, bitterly. He didn't need reminders that Tom didn't like him romantically.

"You should tell him."

Harry whipped his head towards her and glared. "You want me to ruin one of my most important working relationships with someone I deeply care about for the remote off-chance that he likes me back?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow and looked at Harry like he was a toddler, and she was explaining the concept of colors to him. "Well, I've been trying to tell you that he does, in fact, like you, he's actually kind of smitten really, but you're not listening. So, next I'm going to tell you, as one of your most trusted friends, to tell him that you're in love with him."

"I'm not in love with him," Harry denied immediately, and his heart pounded  _lie, lie, lie._

"Right, and the Nile is just a river." What, how did Hermione even know about the Nile? She only spent seven years at Hogwarts on Terra, she had no reason to know what or where the Nile River was. Harry cursed her curiosity for all things, especially where Harry was concerned.

"Look, don't tell him?" he asked, pleaded. He really didn't want to ruin the great things he had going for him right now. A trusting crew, close friends, and a really handsome, charming, clever Dershite. If whatever relationship he had with his Commander fell through, he'd not only end up completely miserable, but he'd be jeopardizing the functional, working relationships with his crew. He wasn't risking that.

"I won't," Hermione replied, grudgingly. She grabbed her mug and drained the rest of her tea and stood. "But I really do think you should take a chance, Harry. I just want you to be happy," she said, softly.

Harry gave a miserable little attempt to smile reassuringly. He was pretty sure the attempt fell flat. "Thanks, Hermione. Really. It's great to know you care."

"A lot of people care, Harry," Hermione said. She patted his hand and stood. "Think about it, okay?"

"Yeah." Harry watched as Blaise walked in the door, clearly looking for Hermione, and lit up like a firework when he spotted her. He pasted on a frankly sleazy smile and winked exaggeratedly at Hermione, but the female only rolled her eyes and laughed. They shared a kiss and left the lounge, fingers entertwined.

Harry was left with a cooling mug of tea and the endless expanse of stars before him.

* * *

As chance would have it, the very next day, Tom asked if Harry wanted to grab dinner together. Harry took one look at Tom's expression (hopeful, but there was a painful kind of expectation there that broke Harry's heart, as if he was expecting Harry to give another excuse) and thought about Hermione, about taking chances, and said yes.

Tom smile rose like a rising sun after a stormy night (and ugh, now even his mind was waxing poetics). They grabbed a seat in the corner of the mess hall, a table for two that discouraged anyone from attempting to join.

"How are you feeling, Harry?" Tom asked when he settled down with his…er, noodles? They were a suspicious neon orange color, with some kind of chunky green sauce that clashed wildly with the rest of the dish. But hey, Harry didn't judge other people's tastes. He used to eat tortilla chips with ketchup as a kid.

"Good as new," Harry replied cheerfully, spearing his mystery meatloaf. Hm, it actually tasted kind of decent. Maybe the food replicator was having a good day.

"That's good," Tom said softly. "I was afraid that there would be lingering effects, but it's good to hear you're finally recovered. I was worried, since we hadn't spent much time together as usual."

A pang of guilt made Harry frown. "Sorry, I've been busy," he lied. He tried the carrots. Mm, cooked with a dash of brown sugar and not too crunchy, not too mushy. The replicator was having a  _really_ good day. "So what have you been up to?"

Tom brightened, as he always did when it came to his research, and began recounting the sea planet's water, air, and soil composition. It turned out, deadly venomous translucent snakes of death aside, it really was rather suitable for living on for aquatic species. Due to a perfect balance of two suns and the planet's particular spin, the seasons were always temperate all year round. The water itself was quite normal, comprised primarily of dihydrogen monoxide and some dissolved salt ions. The air itself was similar to that on Terra, the universal breathing atmosphere, and the bottom of the ocean was deep enough to be a suitable environment for high pressure species.

"Except for the deadly toxic eels," Harry said, amused as he propped his face on a fist.

"Except for deadly toxic eels," Tom replied dutifully. He shook his head and said in a small voice that Harry would almost call  _scared_ if he hadn't known better. "I was quite worried about you, Captain."

 _Thu-thump._ Well, there went Harry's traitorous heart. "Good thing I have the most brilliant Commander and head scientist in the Federation, then."

Something cracked in Tom's expression, and when he spoke again, there was the smallest waver in his voice. "Yes. Commander."

_"He looks at you like you hung the moon and the stars, and then proceeded to create every single planet in the galaxy."_

Harry closed his eyes, mind made up. It was time for him to be brave, this time. He'd been hiding ever since he got on the  _Marauder_ , first from his crewmates, then from his past. He couldn't hide forever.

He stood abruptly. "Come take a walk with me, Tom."

They dumped out their trash, and Harry led them higher, higher into the ship. Tom followed behind silently.

The observation deck had been designed by someone who thought people would enjoy viewing space the stars but failed to take into consideration that they'd be staring at it for the next five years. Nobody really came up to the observation deck, simply because the lounge was usually more comfortable, and nobody really wanted to stare into the void because they saw every single day.

He stopped in front of a large wall of glass that spanned the entire room, giving a full three sixty of space. The lights inside were turned down, only a dim blue glow that allowed him to see out the large windows.

Space had always made Harry feel so small. Insignificant. Just a small, little cog in the wheels of something much, much larger. He could do something to affect maybe a little bit of the universe, but in the end, he wouldn't have a big effect on someone ten thousand lightyears away.

It was a comforting thought. Because out there, there was freedom to do what he wanted, millions of planets to explore and hundreds of possibilities stretched before him, ready for him to just reach forward and  _take_. He didn't seem some dark, great monster waiting to swallow him up anymore, not like before.

Tom seemed content to just let him to his thoughts, also staring out into space. Harry was also incredibly grateful to space for that.

Because if Harry hadn't been born with a yearning to explore planets, to sail through galaxies, he'd never had met Tom. Tom, who had stood by him patiently, with a steadfast trust in a Captain he had no reason to like and a compassionate hand to help heal Harry in every aspect. Patient Tom, compassionate Tom. Tom, whom Harry loved.

"When I was young, I dreamed of adventure," Harry began softly. He didn't turn to look at Tom, only at the stars. "When I graduated, I thirsted for recognition. And when I became Captain, I yearned for acceptance. Never did I dream of gaining friends and trusted colleagues or a dysfunctional family. And never did I dream of finding someone whom I would learn to trust and love.

"This alien was patient when I broke down, listened to my every worry and sorrow. He helped me work past my experiences, and spent most of his free time with me. We shared meals and conversations. We sparred and joked. We talked about everything under the stars, from philosophy to engineering to morality. And I think, somewhere along the way, in the middle of near-death experiences and daring acts of rescue, I fell in love with him."

Harry tilted his head up to look directly at Tom. Be brave, Harry.

At some point, Tom had turned to face him, a fragile hope on his face, as if he didn't dare imagine what Harry was implying but wanted it with all his hearts.

"Please do not jest," Tom murmured. "I do not think I could bear it if this is a joke."

Harry smiled sweetly, a warm chuckle bubbling up his chest. Joy, hope, love was a live thing, and Harry felt like he could sing it to the heavens. He reached out and laid a hand on Tom's cheek. His skin was cool, smooth, and Tom tilted slightly into Harry's palm to press himself more firmly against Harry's hand.

Harry could be kind of blind, really.

"I love you," Harry said, drawing closer to Tom. Tom watched Harry, mesmerized, caught in a daze, as if not quite believing what Harry was saying. He blinked rapidly, and Harry gave a soft laugh as Tom's composure dissolved like tissue in water. "I think I've loved you for a while, now, I just never realized."

"Really?" Tom asked. An irresistible grin, large and so happy and silly, broke across his face, and he lowered his head, just a little, so that he could press his forehead against Harry's. When he spoke, his breath washed over Harry's face.

"Yeah." Hands settled on Harry's waist and drew him closer. Harry's hands slipped down to Tom's neck.

"Well, what a relief," Tom whispered, private words shared just between the two of them, a moment that hung by a thread, lost in their own world. "I think I fell in love with you a while ago, too."

Harry leaned up and gently pressed his lips against Tom's.

Tom's lips were soft, slightly chapped, just a gentle press of skin against skin. There were no fireworks, no instant pleasure that raced down his spine. Instead, there was a blooming delight that unfurled like a flower beneath a sun, a warmth that suffused him, made him want to wrap up the alien in front of him and never let go. Tom's arms wrapped around his back loosely, as if for the possibility that Harry would want to draw away. The thought never crossed his mind.

A thousand possibilities, a thousand chances. Harry was so, incredibly grateful that he decided to seize this one.

Harry really couldn't imagine anything more perfect.

Tom parted their lips, only a millimeter that let them share breathes. Tom looked like someone had brained him with something particularly heavy, and he had a distinct concussed expression.

"Oh," he said, softly.

"Oh," Harry echoed, and he kissed Tom again.

Tom broke away gently but firmly. He looked scared, but he also looked so, so brave. "I need to tell you something." Harry didn't notice the nervous thread running in his voice.

"Can it wait?" Harry grouched playfully.

Tom shook his head. "I have been trying to tell you this for a long time, but I never had the courage. I believe, should you choose to continue this relationship-"

Harry cracked a wide grin, chest full of a warm fluttering feeling and practically bursting like a balloon with happiness. "I definitely choose to continue this relationship."

"-then I think it's only fair that you know." Tom took a deep breath, voice heavy with something unnamed. "I-"

And then the ship's klaxons went off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there's the calm before the storm. Last chapter will be the longest, and it'll be an emotional rollercoaster. I might just finish editing tonight and post it tomorrow. Thanks for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take it, it's done. Finis. No more. That's it.

The klaxons rang loudly, making Harry jump in surprise and scream a little.  Only a little though.

He groaned in dismay and drew away slightly.  The worst fucking timing.  Harry was actually going to murder someone in cold blood if the alarm was for something minor.

“We should go check that out,” Tom said reluctantly, barely audible above the whining alarms.  Harry sighed, and Tom dropped his arms.

“Do we have to?” Harry asked, whined really.  God he was so disappointed.  This was so _dumb_.  “We could ignore it.”

“We really shouldn’t,” Tom said, amused, and stepped back as if to prevent himself from drawing Harry into another kiss.  Harry was very much into that idea.  Whatever crisis awaited Harry on the bridge could wait, right?  He never hated being Captain as much as at that moment.  Well, no, those first two weeks were hellish, but this moment was a close second.

“You’ll tell me what you want after, though, right?” Harry asked.  Tom nodded. 

Harry was so tempted to just stay.  Unfortunately, Harry had a very strong sense of duty, so he sighed resignedly, and they made their way to the bridge.

It was a very good thing that they had.

“Captain,” the current beta shift command officer, Fleur Delacour, said in an urgent, accented tone, shining white hair swishing around her in her frenzy, “the _Death Eater_ is hailing us.”

Harry’s heart leapt to his throat, his previous mood dropping like a stone.  Tom stiffened, and Harry saw his hands tighten into fists in the corner of his eye.

Harry took a deep breath and told Tom, calmly, “Tell the alpha shift officers to report to the bridge _immediately_.”

He nodded to Fleur, who only nodded back tensely, and relieved her of the rest of her shift.  She escaped down the elevator, undoubtedly to start gathering the other officers for duty.

Tom immediately approached Hermione’s station and said over the intercoms, “All alpha shift officers report to the bridge.  I repeat, all alpha shift officers…”

Harry gnawed at his fingernail.  In front of him, a giant ship was calmly stationed like this was only a routine social visit.

“The _Death Eater_ has paling and cloaking technology,” the beta shift navigator babbled nervously.  He ran his hand through his hair nervously.  “We didn’t notice their presence until we were hailed, and when they lowered their paling, and we immediately rang the klaxons.  I’m so, so sorry we didn’t notice them in time, Captain.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Harry said quietly.  The _Death Eater_ was easily three times the size of the _Marauder_ , equipped with state of the art technology, all powered by Avadra.  Nobody in the Federation knew how developed Dershian technology was.

The rest of the alpha shift officers clambered into the bridge, relieving the beta shift and taking up position immediately.

“Hermione, open up channels.  See if we can stall them while we work up an escape,” Harry said.  The chances of actually escaping were low, but Harry would take them.

“They’ve jammed our signals and erected an anti-warp field.  We cannot get out,” Blaise said, distress cracking his smug exterior.

“We will have to put our hopes in our weapons, then,” Harry commanded, turning to Zacharias.  “Power up our shields, get Cedric to redirect all power except for life support to them.  Work with Blaise and Ron, see if you can spot any weakness in the _Death Eater_.  All we need is one good shot to get away.”

“Who do you think I am?” Zacharias asked cockily, but there was a tense tremor to his words.

They were all scared, and as far as they could tell, they could, would most probably die today.  Harry wouldn’t let that happen.

“Blaise, can you use your psionic powers to incapacitate them again?” Harry asked.

“That was a one-time deal, Captain,” Blaise replied, already hunched over a panel with Zacharias.  The two always were a good team, with one skillfully directing their weaponry and the other navigating the ship around obstacles.  It’d gotten them out of a tight spot or two with some asteroid fields.  Hopefully it would get them out of this one.  “I need to focus on piloting the ship.”

Harry nodded.  “Ron, do you know anything about their technology?  How to disrupt it?”

“Nothing,” Ron replied grimly.  “Dershite technology is largely unstudied and unknown.”

Hermione called, “Sir, I’ve got a connection.  Bringing up live feed.”

Voldemort fizzled into existence on their screen.  He was exactly as Harry remembered: pale, tall, and imposing, a threatening smile and holding onto sanity by the tips of his fingers.

“Greetings, _Marauder_ ,” Voldemort said.  His voice was high and cold.  “I would ask you how you’re faring on this fine day, but I can already guess at the answer.”

“What do you want?” Harry asked, a rhetorical question because everybody on the bridge knew what the warlord wanted.

“Why, Harry,” Voldemort cooed, and Harry felt like he’d been doused in dirty, oily water, “I want your life, of course.”

Harry pursed his lips.  He had to stall, give everyone time to figure out a way to escape.  He desperately searched for ideas, but the _Marauder_ was a sitting duck.  They had no warping capability with the anti-warp field up, their engines could not even hope to outrace the _Death Eater_ , their shields would crack under the first repulsor blast, and their weapons wouldn’t even put a dent in the larger ship.

It was a no-win situation.

“And how good it is to see you again, Tom.”

The sentence froze the blood in his veins.  He’d known, when Tom had talked about his past, that the Dershite had worked in Voldemort’s army before.  He’d accepted that fact.  Tom had admitted to being young, idealistic, before he couldn’t bear to fight for the warlord anymore and escaped.  Harry just didn’t know that Voldemort had known Tom on a personal level.

Mutters broke out across the bridge.  Ron looked viciously vindicated, and his phaser was out and pointed at his Commander in one smooth movement.  Tom stood stock-still, jaw tensed, muscles locked.

“Stand down!” Harry barked.  Tom was loyal, and Harry wouldn’t allow his own crew to fire upon their trusted Commander.  “Focus on my commands.”

“You have your entire crew at your beck and call.  You’ve grown up, Harry,” Voldemort said carelessly.  “So much stronger than when I first saw you.  Quite admirable, really.”

“They’ve compromised our beaming technology,” Hermione said low enough that their microphones couldn’t pick up.  Harry nodded imperceptibly to acknowledge her.  Well, there went his plan to sneak aboard the _Death Eater_ and somehow sabotage it from within.

Nothing to it.  “If you had me, would you release my ship?” Harry asked.

There was an even louder protest than before, this time with Tom twitching violently at his side.

“Are you _crazy_?” Tom hissed angrily.  His hand clenched down on the Captain’s chair.  “I will not let you go alone.”

“What are you saying?” Hermione cried.

“Enough!” Harry snapped loudly.  Everyone fell silent, but clearly nobody was happy at all about Harry’s suggestion.  Harry breathed in and turned his attention back to Voldemort, who looked like Christmas had come early.

“Oh, willing to martyr yourself for your crewmates?” the Dershite asked.  He quirked up a lip.  “I may consider it.”

Harry stiffened his spine and planted his feet shoulder-width apart.  Shoulders back, head uplifted.  Every part the Captain.  “Then-”

“But why negotiate, when I can just _take_?” Voldemort asked gleefully.  “Thank you for indulging in this conversation, Captain.  We now have your exact position.”

Suddenly, Harry began to feel the distinct sensation of being dissolved into millions of particles.  The last thing he saw when he glanced up, horrified, was Tom’s wide eyes, fear etched into every part of his features.

The next thing he felt was the sharp impact of his knees on metal floors and two sets of hands gripping his biceps.

“Look at who came to play!” someone exclaimed.  “Ickle baby Potter, finally within our Lord’s grasp.  What a day to be alive, isn’t it, Rodolphus?”

“Indeed it is, Bella,” someone replied.  The two sets of hands yanked Harry painfully to his feet.

Bella was a tall, beautiful Dershite, with coiled hair that hung around her face.  Beautiful, but dangerously so.  She pressed close to Harry’s face and asked, lowly, “Can I have a taste of his blood, do you think?  Would our Lord allow me a sample?”

Rodolphus was the more sane of the two, thankfully, and he jerked Harry forwards so that he stumbled a step.  Together, they guided Harry out of what looked like a transporter room and down numerous hallways.

“No, Bella.  The Lord likes his toys intact.”  Sane, but clearly just as disturbed as Bella.  “He may gift you with the Human after he’s done, though.”

Bella hummed in pleasure.

Harry tried digging his feet in, going limp, thrashing wildly, anything to escape the iron grips around him.  “Let me _go_ ,” Harry snarled.  He knew, though, that there was nothing he could do to get out of this situation.  Although skilled in fighting, he was captured by two physically stronger aliens, and judging by their lack of even a stumble when Harry abruptly dropped his weight, he wouldn’t be escaping without assistance.

“Shhh, little Human,” Bella said gleefully.  “Struggle too much, and Voldemort might blow your beloved ship into tiny little pieces.”

Harry complied immediately.  Not the _Marauder._

It was a long trek down hallways, each passage identical, making it harder to build a mental map of the ship.  After what seemed like hours, Harry finally arrived in front of two large doors.

Bella knocked, bloodthirsty smile painted across her pretty lips.

“Come in.”

Harry’s pulse pounded in his ears as the doors opened wide.

Voldemort stood, armor covering his chest, holding a familiar, glowing scepter.  He smiled widely as Harry was thrown to the ground roughly, Bella cackling all the while.  Harry painfully got to his feet.  Only a few bruises, nothing serious.

“Leave us,” he hissed, a sibilant noise that made goosebumps crawl up Harry’s flesh. 

“Oh, can’t I stay, my Lord?” Bella asked in a simpering voice.

“ _Leave_.”

Bella made a disappointed sound, but then the two sets of footsteps retreated.  Harry didn’t dare to turn to watch them go.  He kept his eyes trained on the warlord’s face.

The Dershite spread his hands and gestured to what seemed like the main bridge.  Behind him, a giant window overlooked space, with several panels crackling with green Avadra leaping between controls.  Voldemort stood like a king over a prisoner, tall and proud and undeniably unhinged.

“It’s good to have you here, Harry Potter,” he said.  Voldemort looked much like Tom did, with similar black and red eyes and red veins protruding from his sickly pale skin.  Unlike Tom, though, he was bald and skeletal, like a revenant stuck between life and death.  He tasted his words like sipping ambrosia, pleasure with every syllable.  “Harry Potter, the boy who defeated my fleet, the boy hailed as a hero for having defeated the fearsome Lord Voldemort.”  He swept into a low bow and said, with a mocking lilt, “It’s good to finally meet you properly.  Tell me, how does your battle scar fare?”

Harry’s forehead pulsed, but the pain subsided just as quickly.  Harry was scared, yes.  His pulse was rabbit-fast, and sweat was starting to drip down his spine.  But he wasn’t scared of the man who had tried to kill him so long ago.  He was scared for his crew, his friends, his _family_ , yes, but not this alient before him.

Harry had overcome his fear of Avadra and Voldemort a long time ago.

“Feeling pretty good,” Harry replied with false bravado.  “How does it feel to not have any army anymore?”

Voldemort chuckled, amused.  “Trying to goad me, Potter?  Unfortunately, you’re much too young to try to play mind games with me.”

“Pity,” Harry drawled, subtly rotating his wrists and shoulders.  He had no weapons, and if he had to fight, he only had his own body.  It would have to do.  “Was hoping we could brawl it out, and then you’d let me and mine go.”

Voldemort cocked his head like a curious dog, letting the statement hang in the air.  He gave a sigh, a pitying one that set Harry’s teeth on edge.  “Your death would be such a waste.  You have so much potential.  A recent graduate from Hogwarts, yes?”  Voldemort began pacing around Harry.  Harry turned with him, eyeing the Dershite warily.  “And within a week, the Captain of a ship!  Loyal crewmates who would give their lives up for you, brave, intelligent.  I would welcome you on my ship.”

Harry nearly gaped at Voldemort.  The alien was clearly insane.

“You want to invite your enemy to work with you?” Harry asked, disbelief coloring his voice.

“We’re similar, you and I.  Both ripped away from our homes, both without family.  Join me,” Voldemort crooned, stopping in front of the glass window.  He fingered his scepter lovingly before stalking forwards like a giant predator.  His scepter clanged on the metal floor.  “We could be great together.  We could conquer universes, destroy the Federation for their incompetence, build a new government in the image of our ideals.  Join me.  I will only make this offer once.”

“Sorry, I don’t think I can follow a megalomaniac,” Harry replied, stepping backwards warily.

“A megalomaniac?  I only want vengeance!” Voldemort screeched, insanity lining every muscle in his body as he swung from calm and composed to wrathful.  “To destroy the Federation like they destroyed my _home_.  To give the Federation a taste of their own negligence when they fail to protect their own home, which would have happened if you hadn’t _interfered_!  Did they not let your parents die?”

Low blow.  Harry struggled to keep his anger in check.  His parents had died because _Voldemort’s fleet had killed them_ , how _dare_ he blame it on the Federation?

“You think revenge will solve your problems?” Harry snarled.  “What do you think will happen once you destroy the Federation?  What next?  You’ll only destroy more and more, and you won’t ever stop!”

“All the better,” Voldemort said, abruptly soft and deadly.  “Let the universe burn for my pain.”  There was the sound of the door behind him opening, and Harry turned and exhaled in relief when he saw Tom, before his presence truly registered.

“Tom, get out of here,” Harry hissed, eyes darting over Tom’s inexplicable unharmed appearance.  What was he doing here?  How did he get past the beam interceptor? 

“Ah, good of you to come,” Voldemort said, delighted, and Harry whirled back around, put Tom at his back so that he could keep his eyes on the enemy.  “You’ve delivered well.”

Harry blinked, confused.  A very bad feeling began creeping up his spine, something he didn’t want to consider, _refused to consider_.  “What?”

Voldemort smiled, a sickly, demented stretch of lipless mouth.  It was a humorless smile, one that implied that Harry was missing some important point.  “Oh, you haven’t told him, Tom?  Of your duplicity?”

“I believed it was best for you to reveal,” Tom replied, tonelessly.  Dead.  Harry had never, during any point of his acquaintanceship with his Commander, heard anything as flat and unemotional.

“Oh, it’s wonderful that you’ve inherited my flair for the dramatics.  The great reveal.”  Oh god, oh no, this was a dream.  This was all a horrible nightmare, and Harry was going to wake up, cradled in Tom’s arms, and laugh about the dream when they had breakfast.  This wasn’t…this couldn’t…  “I admit, I was concerned when you stopped reporting in after Nurmengard, but given the suspicion at the time, you could be forgiven.  And in the end, you fulfilled your mission anyways.”

What.  What, _no, please._ Voldemort _couldn’t_ be implying what Harry thought he was.

“I thank you for your praise.”

Voldemort narrowed his eyes, fixed on Harry’s face as the words passed through his mouth, drinking in Harry’s horror with sadistic amusement.  “You’ve made me proud, son.”

Time stopped.  Cruel glee shined in Voldemort’s eyes as Harry processed what was just said.  His son.  _Tom was Voldemort’s son.  Tom had been acting for Voldemort all along._ Tom, who soothed him after nightmares, who listened to every confession, who laughed and joked and teased.  Tom who…

“Son,” Harry asked.  Ice leaked through his veins.  Voldemort laughed, chillingly, a sound that froze Harry’s brain and made him repeat the same phrase over and over again.  _His son, his son, his son_.

“Tom Riddle is as much my son as you are James Potter’s,” Voldemort hissed gleefully, and it was the same sibilant sound Tom made when he was angry or worried.  “How does it feel, to be betrayed by someone you trust?  I must admit, it’s such a striking parallel!  We trusted the Federation, who did not come in our hour of need.  You trusted my son, who has been working against you since you set foot into your ship.  How sweet and fitting revenge is!”

Voldemort spun to look out over the stars, hands held wide as if to encompass the entire universe.

“And!” he said, all frenetic energy, like a child, “After you, we will head for the Federation.  Your death will send a message.  Perhaps I should keep your head as a trophy?  To show that nothing can stop us now?”

Panic.  Horror.  _Anger_.  Emotions crowded Harry’s brain, but he refused to turn around, to see the alien he had trusted, the one he had _loved_ , given his soul and heart to.  Who, only one hour ago, he had confessed to, kissed, dreamed of a future together with.

“That time, on Nurmengard, it was _you_ who sent the transmission signal,” Harry said, without turning around.  He couldn’t face his…former Commander.  An intense feeling of betrayal ripped through him, clawing jagged wounds and bleeding fresh blood.

“It was I,” Tom intoned.  He seemed to be carved out of marble, and Harry couldn’t read any emotions in his voice, none in his tone.  Harry choked on a sob, forced it down.  He was a Captain.  He was the _Marauder’s_ Captain, and he had an oath-bound duty to protect them, to protect the Federation.

He couldn’t let his heart get in the way, couldn’t allow his emotions to weaken him.  This…this was a lie.  Denial raged through him.  A misunderstanding.  It had to be.  _It had to be._

“I _defended_ you,” Harry said, a pleading note in his voice, like he could convince Tom that this had all been some kind of misunderstanding.  This was a dream, and Tom was _lying_.  Tom wouldn’t betray the crew.  He loved the ship too much.

“And it was an admirable move on your part, but Weasley was right,” Tom said. 

“Was…” Harry began, swallowing noisily.  “Was it all a lie?”  _Was your love only a fabrication, meant to earn my trust?  Was ever moment we shared only genuine from my end?_

“I’m afraid so.”  Cloth shifted behind him.  Harry kept looking forwards, staring at Voldemort.  There was a click, the sound of a phaser turning, the familiar crackle of Avadra.  “Father, if I may?”

Voldemort shrugged.  “Might as well.  You may do the honors.  You deserve to reap the rewards of your effort.”

_Tom was going to kill Harry._ Harry could feel something in him crack, shatter, jagged pieces that probably would never get glued back together again.  Harry was about to die at Tom’s hands and…

He couldn’t allow that.  _Harry was the Captain of the Marauder, one of the most decorated ships in the Space Federation, a ship entrusted to him.  He would not allow himself to die, not even at the hands of Tom Riddle._

Harry turned, slowly, to gaze upon the face of the alien he loved.

Tom’s face was blank, stone cold, lit up by the glowing Avadra phaser he held in his hand.  He levelled his it, set to kill, at Harry.  It powered up, green energy crackling within the barrel, and Harry tensed, readying himself to move, to dodge.  Tom had always been a remarkable marksman, but Harry was always good at hand-to-hand combat, with lightning fast reflexes.  Harry would just need to dodge and make it out of this situation alive.

And then after…

He’d think about after when he got out of here.

There was a tense silence, a stare-off between Captain and Commander.  Tom lowered his head, and Harry saw something flit across his face, almost too fast to identify.  But Harry caught it.

“I’m afraid, father, that I’ve been compromised.  I cannot follow your orders anymore.”

Harry _moved_ as deadly green energy scream past his head, leaping forwards to grab the other phaser tucked into Tom’s belt.  There was a surprised screech, and Harry turned to see Voldemort kneeling, wrist clutched in one hand, scepter clattered to the floor.  The green energy dissipated in a shower of sparks against armor as Voldemort returned to stand, nose flared in anger and red lines spreading across his face. 

“So you’ve betrayed me,” Voldemort said, quietly.

“I was loyal, father, until you threatened someone I loved.”

“I will _destroy_ you,” Voldemort screamed, and in his anger he forgot his scepter on the ground.  He _lunged_ , fingers spread wide as if to wrap them around their necks and personally strangle the life out of them.

This time, Harry aimed directly at Voldemort’s face and pulled the trigger.  There was a pained screech.  Tom grabbed Harry’s wrist to haul him backwards.  “Let’s _go_!”

Tom dragged him down the hallway.  Behind him, there was a blast of Avadra, strong enough to score a black mark along the metal walls.  Harry ran, following Tom down halls and hoping that Tom knew where he was going.  Ahead, there were the sounds of shouting.  Guards.

Tom wheeled around a corner and _jumped_ , kicking a guard who toppled into others.  Tom didn’t bother fighting them, only shot his Avadra phaser in their general direction.  They raced past the disoriented guards, and Tom put a hand to his ear.

“ _Marauder_ , this is Commander Riddle.  The Captain is with me.  ETA five minutes.”

“And _how_ , exactly…” Harry panted, barreling into another guard with his shoulder.  Tom landed a punch that knocked the Dershite unconscious.  “…are you…getting us out…of here?”

Tom grunted, wincing as he blocked a blow with his forearm.  Harry aimed over Tom’s shoulder, and there was a crackle of energy as his phaser knocked Tom’s attacker over.

Tom grabbed Harry’s wrist, and they darted down another hallway.  Harry could hear pursuers behind him.  Tom took a sharp turn, and Harry was surprised to find them in the transporter room again.  And of course Tom would know what he was doing, he was _Voldemort’s son_.

Harry pushed down the thought quickly.  He couldn’t focus on that, he had to focus on _now_.

“The beam interceptor does not affect Dershian technology,” Tom said quietly.  He shut the transporter room door quietly and locked it, ear cocked for any noise.  Harry could hear several feet thudding past their door, but thankfully nobody decided to check their hiding area.  Yet.  “You can get out of here.”

‘You.’  Tom wasn’t planning on joining him.  “I’m not leaving without you,” Harry snarled.  What, Tom thought he could just drop a huge bombshell on Harry and then _leave_?

“Somebody needs to stop Voldemort from following the _Marauder_ ,” Tom replied, and there was something defeated in his tone, something that made Harry want to simultaneous bash the Dershite’s head in and hug him and never let go.  “I know where the main Avadra pipeline is.  I can destroy it to set off a chain reaction.  The _Death Eater_ won’t be a problem anymore.”

_And I’ll die, in the process._ Harry could hear the unspoken sentence clear as day, having thought the same thing over and over before.

“You will not martyr yourself for us!” Harry practically roared, only the nagging awareness that he couldn’t raise his voice in case they were found keeping his volume under manageable levels.  He breathed in to calm himself.  “You _will_ return to the _Marauder_ with me.  That is an order from your Captain.”

Tom shook his head ruefully.  “We would not be able to escape.”

“We’ll figure out a way.”

“Let me _atone for my mistakes_!” Tom snapped.  Harry knew that feeling all too well.  He had, after all, spent his first several months on the _Marauder_ feeling it every day.  It was a dark and lonely road.  Harry wouldn’t let Tom make the same mistakes.

“I will not allow you to sacrifice your life,” Harry growled fiercely.  His fingers dug into Tom’s forearm, and he glared at Tom vehemently.  He hissed, “I deserve an explanation.  _Everybody_ deserves an explanation.”

“I already told them,” Tom said quietly.  “I admitted everything before they allowed me to come after you.”  He gestured at his ear, where the comm sat.  “They know about my plans.  They agree.”

“ _Well I don’t fucking agree!”_  Harry grabbed a fistful of Tom’s shirt and yanked him down until they were nose to nose, and Harry seethed into Tom’s face, “And I’m not going unless you come with me.”

Tom remained silent, but Harry could see the cogs turning in Tom’s brain.  The Commander had always been smart, crafty.  He knew they were wasting precious time arguing.

“…very well,” Tom said, all business.  “Do you trust me, Harry?”

And wasn’t that the goddamn question of the fucking century.

“Yes.”

And it took less than a second to answer.

“One of us needs to shut down the beam interceptor, back on the main bridge,” he said briskly.  “And one will have to find the engine room and blow up the main line.  I know the way around the ship better, and it will be faster for me to find the engine room.  You will need to backtrack to the control room.  The beam interceptor control panel is there.”

“I don’t know anything about Dershian technology,” Harry argued.  He suddenly felt very out of his depth, but Harry always did work best when someone’s life was on the line.  He knew how to keep a calm head during a tense situation.  It was what allowed him to survive Nurmengard.  It would help him now.  “But I’ll figure out a way,” he said confidently.  He’d have to.  There was no other choice.

Tom nodded.  He tapped his comm.  “It will take me at least ten minutes to reach the engine room.  When I blow up the Avadra pipeline, I’ll tell Lieutenant Commander Diggory to beam us up immediately.  You will have to have the interceptor turned off by then.”

_And what if you just leave me here to die?_ Harry wanted to ask.  Tom had betrayed him before.  What guarantee did he have that Tom would tell Cedric to beam them both out in time?

_“Do you trust me, Harry?”_

_“Yes.”_

And on the other hand, how did Tom know that Harry would bring down the beam interceptor?  Tom trusted Harry to do his job.  Harry would have to do the same.

Harry’s faith in Tom’s skills were the only thing he could trust right now.

“Go,” Harry whispered.  He tugged Tom into a rough kiss, all teeth and anger, one hand clenched almost painfully into Tom’s hair.  “Don’t you dare die on me,” Harry said, fiercely, willing Tom to understand.  “Promise me.  _Promise me_.”

Tom grinned, bright and dangerous and determined.  “By your command, Captain.”

And Tom disappeared as the door clicked shut.  Harry took a second to gather himself.  That hadn’t been a promise. 

There was the distant sound of shouts, and then fighting breaking out.  He gave Tom a minute before he crept out of the room himself.

Having been down the path two times now, Harry found it easier to find his way to the bridge.  The harder part was getting past the guards.  Harry couldn’t afford for them to follow him to the bridge, so he took down each Dershite he came across with vicious punches and merciless phaser shots.  Harry didn’t hesitate, couldn’t _afford_ to hesitate.  He mentally thanked Cho for stepping up their sparring sessions as he parried a punch and roundhouse kicked a Dershite in the face.

It was a blur of action, anger, and determination.  Harry _would_ reach the bridge, and he _would_ turn off the beaming interceptor.  For Tom, if for nobody else.

Harry wasn’t sure if Tom had reached the engine room yet, if Tom would blow both of them up before Harry even got to the bridge.

He didn’t allow himself to think about it.  There was no room for _what ifs_.

When Harry finally reached the bridge, he was relieved to find it empty, almost suspiciously so.  Perhaps Tom had gotten arrogant, not believing Harry would return.  There was no sign of guards or Voldemort, which meant…

…which meant they had gone after Tom.

Harry was tempted to turn back, to find Tom, make sure he was safe, but _no_.  He couldn’t.  He had a job to do, and he had to trust Tom.  At least, for now.

The control panels frankly all looked similar.  Harry spied what looked like where a navigator would sit, and perhaps another where communications would.  He looked over unfamiliar characters and switches, scanning for anything that looked remotely would turn off ship technology.

And…there.  Harry hurried over to the panel, where there was something that looked like it would control weapons and shielding, with what looked like the controls for aiming a repulsor.  Harry squinted at the panel and frowned.  Honestly, it looked so different from the weapons panel on the _Marauder_ , but if they were even remotely similar, what controlled the beaming interceptor was most probably a switch.

And so, Harry began flipping the switches.  Logically, Voldemort would have his own shielding and paling turned up to the max, weapons primed to fire, right?  So Harry would just have to turn every switch to its opposite position and hope that one of them would allow Cedric to beam him and Tom off this ship.

Sometimes, working technology required skill.  In this case, it required dumb luck.

The moment Harry flicked the last switch, he sagged against the desk.  He hung his head and closed his eyes and prayed.

There was another distant explosion that echoed throughout the ship, but nobody entered the main bridge.  Tom must have been keeping them distracted.  Harry worried at his lip before straightening resolutely.

He’d done what he could here.  He could go after Tom, perhaps draw some of the attention away from the Commander and make his job easier.

Harry took a step, mind made up, when he felt the tingling sensation of being beamed start from his toes.

He sighed in relief.  Harry had turned off the beaming interceptor.  Tom had done it.  _Tom had done it._

He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, he was back in the transporter room on the Marauder.  He turned, congratulations on the tip of his tongue.

Tom wasn’t beside him.

“Harry, thank god you’re alright,” Cedric said.

Harry whirled in a full circle, thinking he’d missed Tom’s arrival.  Did Tom get back before he did?

“Where’s Tom?” he asked desperately.  Hovering around the door were Ron and Hermione.  Hermione had her fingers wrapped in Ron’s shirt, tears streaming down her face, relief clear across her expression.  She stepped forward and wrapped Harry in a hug.

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” she chanted, wrapping her arms tighter around him.

“Where’s Tom?” he repeated, eyes fixed on Ron.

“Glad you’re back,” Ron said, deliberately ignoring Harry’s question.

Panic crawled up Harry’s throat.  _“Where.  Is.  Tom?”_

“He told us to beam you back the moment our beaming technology came back online,” Cedric explained.  He was wringing his hands together, eyes furrowed in worry.  “He said to get us away from the explosion the moment you were on the ship.  If he succeeded, the _Death Eater_ could cause damage to us, so we needed to distance ourselves.”

“Not acceptable,” Harry snapped.  He gently detached himself from Hermione and held out his hand.  “Get me a comm, Hermione.”

“There’s nothing you can do, mate,” Ron said quietly.  Harry didn’t pay him any attention.

“I’ll be the one to decide if there’s something to do or not.”  Harry fixed the comm handed to him into an ear and began striding quickly towards the main bridge, Ron and Hermione at his heels.  He tapped his comm.  “Cedric, do you hear me?”

“ _Yes, sir_ ,” came the tinny answer.

“Tell Tom that he’s a fucking asshole, in those words exactly, and to report to you the moment he gets to that line.”  The elevator whirred and opened seamlessly before Harry, depositing him onto the bridge.

“Captain, good to have you back,” Blaise said.

“Good to be back.  Hermione, link me to Tom’s comm.  We need to have a conversation about making someone else’s decisions for them.”  Pissed?  Oh yes, Harry was spitting mad.  Combined with the almost overwhelming worry and desperation at the thought of losing Tom, the anger allowed Harry to make decisions, settle into that battle calm.  He would drag Tom back on this ship kicking and screaming if he had to.

“ _Harry.”_   The comm crackled a bit before the connection stabilized.  Tom sounded relieved before he grunted.  There was a crash and the whirring of a phaser in the background.  _“You’re safe.”_

“And you’re not,” Harry replied.  He narrowed his eyes.  “Blaise, prepare to warp when I give the signal.”

“We’re not leaving now?” the psionic asked, relieved.  Blaise gave a sharp grin.  “Good.  I didn’t like the Commander’s plan either.”

_“Harry, you need to get out of here now.  An explosion on the scale of the_ Death Eater _will damage the ship and-”_

“And that is exactly why we’ll warp when I give the signal.  The moment that line explodes, Cedric will warp you back here, and Blaise will get us as far away from the _Death Eater_ as quickly as possible.”

_“That’s too-”_ another grunt.  Harry could hear Tom exhale sharply, painfully.  _“-risky.  Get out of there now.”_

“Not a chance.”

_“Just leave me!”_

“DYING DOESN’T FIX ANYTHING!” Harry roared.  He breathed through his fear, his anger, his pure desperation and said, “Come back to me, Tom.  _Please_.  I’m not leaving until you do.  _You owe me this._ ”

Silence, broken only by the distant sounds of fighting.

_“You can’t do that.”_ Tom sounded broken.  There was the distant sound of running, and then the clang of a door bursting open.  _“You can’t put the ship in danger just for me.”_

“Then don’t put in a position that will harm them,” Harry replied.  He closed his eyes, counted his breaths.

Pants, and then the sound of running stopped.

“ _...okay_.”  Tom sounded so small.

“Okay,” Harry echoed, relieved.  They would be fine.  Everything would be fine.  “On your-”

_“And what, son, do you think you’re doing?”_

The voice was familiar.  Voldemort.

_“I’m putting an end to your reign of terror, father.”_

_“Tsk.  After everything I’ve done for you, everything I’ve done for our people, you’re willing to throw it away?  And for what?  Because you’ve chosen a Human over your own family and people?”_

Silence.

_“Put the phaser down.  Put it down, and I will let your Human go.”_

Good.  Tom was at the main line.  Harry held out a hand to Blaise, palm forwards in a stop motion.  He waited, every muscle wired with tension.  He couldn’t be late in giving the signal.

_“I have the advantage, father.”_

_“You’re helping the same organization that abandoned us in our time of need!”_ Voldemort screamed, and Harry felt a pang of…something.  Sympathy, perhaps, for a man driven insane by revenge, by the loss of his people and culture and planet.  Harry closed his eyes.  _“You’d allow them to get away with the murder and genocide of our race, our species?”_

_“You’ve had your revenge, father.  You’ve already slaughtered hundreds, destroyed colonies and decimated planets.  It is time to stop.”_

_“I WILL NOT STOP UNTIL THE FEDERATION IS DUST BENEATH MY FEET!”_

_“Don’t make me kill my own father,”_ Tom pleaded.  And suddenly, it occurred to Harry what, exactly, he was asking Tom to do, what Tom was determined to do.

Patricide.

Voldemort had always been the bogeyman, the cruel and merciless warlord, but it didn’t truly hit Harry until now that he had had a family before, a wife whom he loved dearly and a son whom he cherished.  Someone with a home, someone who cherished his planet and culture with every atom in his being, someone who lost everything to the negligence of a few people.

And Tom was about to kill his only remaining people.

Harry closed his eyes.  Tom didn’t deserve this.

But Harry wouldn’t stop him.

Unfortunately, in this universe, many people did not deserve what they received.

_“If you do not kill me here and now, I will continue.  I will not stop.  Do you understand me?  I will not stop until_ everyone is dead. _”_

Ragged breathing, a hitched sob.

_“…I’m so sorry, father.”_

There was a faint, weary sigh.

Harry yelled into his comm, “Beam him in, Cedric!  Blaise, _now!_ ”

There was the distant sound of the fizzling energy of a phaser pulse.  Harry abandoned his position, dashing out of the bridge.  He _ran_ towards the transporter room, heart beating a tattoo against his chest, praying to whatever god was out there.

The ship jolted into a warp, the walls buzzing with the force of transportation.  There was a slight shudder before the ship’s flight smoothed out again.  They had gotten far enough from the explosion just in time, perhaps with some minor damage, but Harry could deal with everything else later.  Right now…

_Tom_.

Harry burst into the transporter room.

And there, solid, bruised and bloodied but relatively unharmed, phaser clenched in one hand, red tears trickling down his face and hand covering his mouth in grief, was Tom.

Tom looked up, full of pain and hurt and so much sadness.

“I did it,” he whispered.

Harry pulled Tom into a tight hug and didn’t let go.

* * *

“How long?”

Harry sat on one of the couches on the observation deck.  He refused to look at Tom, bandaged and cleaned up from the fight only hours ago.  Draco had checked them both silently, for once without a snarky comment.

Nobody had dared to say anything after Tom’s return.  Nobody brought up Tom’s betrayal, and nobody stopped Harry when he dragged Tom up to the observation deck for a private conversation.

“How long had you been working for Voldemort?”

Because clearly Tom had lied about escaping from Voldemort’s army, about his past.  Yeah, that stung of betrayal.

“…I stopped reporting to him after Nurmengard,” Tom replied.  There was something so dead in his voice, sorrowful and mourning, but Harry couldn’t touch that.  Not now, not yet.

“Why?”

Tom was silent, staring out at the stars like they contained all the answers to his questions, like they would make everything right again.

Nothing would be right for a long, long time.

“I wanted to hate you, from the bottom of my hearts,” Tom said miserably.  He refused to look up into Harry’s eyes.  Harry allowed him to continue his explanation.  “After Voldemort’s fleet was decimated and you returned a war hero, I wanted so much to hate you, but I couldn’t, because I knew he wouldn’t stop, and I knew his followers wouldn’t stop until they had wiped out millions of lives.  I couldn’t do it.  I couldn’t follow my father’s plans for vengeance.  That’s why I left his army at first to work as a spy in the Federation.  Because I was a coward, and I didn’t want to be directly responsible for so many deaths under Voldemort’s command.

“And then I met you.  I saw how much you suffered.  You looked like you were carrying the whole world on your shoulders, Harry,” Tom said, pleadingly, willing so hard for Harry to understand.  “I called our location in to Voldemort, told him we were at Nurmengard.  And when I left you there, I told myself I was doing the right thing.

“I’d never hated myself more,” Tom admitted in a small voice.  “When you came back, I was so relieved, because you were brave and strong and willing to give your own life up for mine, for someone who had put you in danger in the first place.  You were amazing.  I…I think that was when I began falling in love with you.”

Harry didn’t say a word, only listened.  He needed this.  Closure, for everything that had happened.

Tom gave a broken, wet laugh, full of self-loathing, the kind that Harry knew meant he was blaming himself for everything.  “When you protected me from a blow on that damned forest planet, I was furious.  Who did you think you were, to protect me?  Why would someone so brilliant and loyal to his ship and crew risk his own life for mine?

“It always baffled me, how you couldn’t see your own worth.  You held the loyalty of a whole ship in your hands, and you didn’t think you deserved it.  You couldn’t see that half the crew adored you after only a month as her Captain, and the other half followed after you willingly sacrificed your life to save theirs.  And I wanted to show you that you did deserve it.

“I stopped reporting to my father then.  I couldn’t bring myself to put your life in danger deliberately again, not after you were so willing to save mine.  And then we spent nights talking about our pasts, and I wanted to tell you the truth _so much_.  I was about to.  But I was scared.  Scared that you’d throw me in a cell, scared that you’d lose all respect for me.  I was a coward, so I didn’t tell you.  You told me everything, and I lied to your face.

“When you were kidnapped, I was furious.  I wanted to rip out Crouch’s _throat_ , I wanted to make sure nobody would harm you every again.”  Here, Tom snarled, a small burst of anger that quickly died as he realized that he probably didn’t have the right to get mad at someone else hurting Harry.  Harry felt pettily, viciously satisfied.  “I realized, when you were safe back on the ship, that I didn’t want to lose you.  I never wanted to lose you again.

“When you were poisoned, and your life depended on me to synthesize an antivenin, I was terrified.  Your life was in my hands, so fragile.  It would have destroyed me if you died because of me.”  Tom’s voice choked.  “I worked so hard, and when I finally finished it, it’d been eighteen hours, and if you died because I’d been too slow, I’d have blamed myself for the rest of my life.  I think those were one of the worst eighteen hours of my life, when you were depending on me.  I’d never felt as relieved as I had when you woke up.

“A-And then.”  Tom closed his eyes, buried his face in his hands.  When he spoke again, his voice was muffled.  “You told me that you _loved_ me.  I was overjoyed.  I thought that the moment would last forever.  That everything would be fine, because you loved me, and I loved you _so much_.  I-I thought that you could look past my mistakes.  And I tried to tell you again, but we were interrupted.”

“By Voldemort,” Harry finished.  He kept staring out at the stars, holding onto his anger, his hurt.  He couldn’t let it go, because if he did, if he forgave Tom of this mistake, he could never respect himself again.

“By my father,” Tom said.  He breathed in deeply and raised his head.  “When he revealed to the rest of the crew that I used to work with him, and when you were taken, I knew I had to go after you.  I had to right my wrongs, atone for my mistakes.  The crew didn’t make it easy for me,” he said wryly, and Harry had a sneaking suspicious that Ron was the main factor in arguing against Tom.  Good, loyal Ron.  “I told them everything, convinced them to let me follow you.  And they let me go.  They trusted me, right after they found out that I’d been selling you out for so long.”  There was wonder in his voice.

“I was determined to die on that ship, Harry.  To take the easier way out.  I didn’t want to face you or the crew again, but you forced me to come back.  And I came back.”

Silence.  Harry waited patiently.

“Do you know what I saw, Harry, when I looked in his eyes?” Tom asked, and Harry knew he was referring to Voldemort.  His own father.  Tom sounded so vulnerable, so sad and desperate and broken.  Harry wanted to help him, put him back together, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so.  Not now, not yet.  “He wanted me to kill him.  He knew that if I did not end his life now, he would go on, keep going, and would not stop unless someone else stopped him.  He wanted me to kill him.

“But in the end, I killed him not because he wanted me to, nor because he would destroy so many more lives if he did.

“I did it because I love you, and because he would keep coming after you unless I stopped him.”

Tom stopped, done, waiting for judgement.

Harry closed his eyes, because before him was the alien whom he loved, the one he’d confessed every secret to.  And before him was the alien who lied to him, who might have been partly responsible for Harry’s parents’ deaths.  The one who’d saved him.  The one who’d put him in danger in the first place.

 “I’m sorry,” Tom croaked, hunched.  Shame crawled across his shoulders, and there was a self-loathing that he wore better than Harry had ever worn himself.

 “I don’t forgive you,” Harry said softly.  There was a strangled sob.  Harry stood from the couch, hands in his pockets.  “I won’t forgive you for a very long time.  And I don’t know if I ever will.

“But.”

Tom breathed in sharply.

“I still love you,” Harry said.  He stared into space.  Thousands of possibilities.  Thousands of roads to take.  Thousands of paths to forgiveness, to possibly mend this relationship or break it into tiny little pieces.  “But I still love you.”

And Tom understood what Harry left unspoken.

It would take time to fix what was broken, to piece together the shattered bits of their relationship.  It would take effort on both of their parts.  They would probably fight again, shout and scream and cry.  But eventually…

Eventually, they could be okay.  They could make it back to where they were before, just a little more banged up and scratched, just a little bit stronger for it.  They could become Captain and Commander again, perhaps even joke and share silent moments on the observation deck again.

They could never talk to each other again.  Or they could spend the next four and a half years looking for a way forward.

Harry would take that chance.

“Okay,” Tom said softly.

They could be okay again, amongst the million stars in the universe and thousands of planets, the hundreds of possibilities and moments shared.

They could be okay again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you so very much for reading. I started this two years ago, and after a very long break came back to it and finished it! I'm satisfied with the ending, personally. They won't be okay for a while, but they could be if they tried.
> 
> I don't know how I feel about this fic. On one hand, I'm very satisfied. This is my first completed multichapter, and I'm happy to have one to my name. On the other hand, I feel like I could have filled out the world so much more, taken my time with some of the interactions or explored more possibilities. But, I got tired of it, and I'm done. So. Here you are.
> 
> Again, thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

**Author's Note:**

> For those who care. I have a tumblr at haplesshippo. I don't usually have time in my day to do a lot of reblogs, so it'll be sparse in terms of entertainment value, but I'll always try to answer any questions or hold conversations! Just hit me up in an ask or whatever you people do on tumblr.
> 
> Sincerely,
> 
> haplesshippo


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